Battle for Neverland
by Lywhn
Summary: As the children fallow Peter back to Neverland, they have to face the most dangerous adventure of all. Coldness and dark creatures beset the island, and Peter has to fight for his home. At his side strange Elves and – an uwilling Captain Hook.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Peter Pan or all the other well-known characters of Neverland. They belong to Mr. J.M. Barry, or rather, the Great Ormond Street Hospital. I also don't own the Elvish language, for it was developed by the amazing Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien, as well as the description of the Elves, which I wholeheartedly endorse. The other magical creatures come from German and Celtic mythology, and they are used with my highest respect.

Author's note:

Dear readers, in advance I want to inform you that English isn't my native tongue. So please be patient with me if the one or other sentence / word isn't that brilliant. I've a good beta-reader, and hope that there aren't too much mistakes. She really does a good job, but you know, even when two persons are involved, some things can be still overseen.

I've already written this story two years ago in German, but now I wanted to share it with you all.

At last one question: Does someone speak a little bit Sindarin (Elvish) and can help me with it? I would need the help from chapter 7 to the end. So if someone takes mercy on me and helps me it would be niiiicccceeee!

And now: have fun and please, please review!

Yours

Lywhn

**Prologue **

"Old, alone, done for! Old, alone, done for!"

The chanting of the children clamored from the deck and thundered in his ears, awaking the worst memories he had, and mingled with his greatest fears. And those fears were now realized as the giant lizard leapt upward, mouth open, ready to swallow him whole. The mighty jaws clapped with a terrifying sound, missing his feet by inches. And he was losing height – weighed down by the loss of his one happy thought and the fairy-dust, losing the new and ecstatic feeling of flying.

He spoke the truth when told the girl he had no happy thoughts, now so necessary for keeping him in the air and, by extension, saving his life. He'd lost them all – so many years ago. And this simple lack of human warmth now sealed his doom. Before that accursed storm had taken the ship and thrust it at this mystical island of eternal youth, he had never believed in things such as fairies, mermaids and -- especially -- flying children. But here, they were real. And the secret of flying was not only the elusive fairy-dust these tiny creatures discharged, but also a cheerful heart.

But he had lost those feelings long ago! He considered his own heart as dark as the darkest night, without moon or stars. As a pirate, he was forced to become a cold, careless man, even if, in the beginning, it had been anything but easy. Moments ago, even though he'd been taught caution by his hard life, he had chosen that insane flight. It was the moment he gripped the fairy in his one hand, doused himself with the mystical dust, and suddenly found himself able to fly by imagining victory over his nemesis.

But the dream he so desperately wished for was now beyond his grasp as he found himself bereft of all hope of defeating the brat, the deadly beast beneath him which had hunted him for an eternity.

He looked up at the diamond stars scattered on the black velvet above him, mocking him with their merry indifference. All the clouds which had rolled in when the little Prince of Neverland had been in danger were gone by now, chased away. Chased how? By some incredible power as the boy received something so pure, so innocent as a kiss from the Wendy girl. That same girl now stood at the rail of his four-masted ship and chanted, along with the boys, the words that now forced him down toward the lizard.

His upward gaze found the reason for all his misery. The boy appeared no more than twelve or thirteen, but he knew that Pan was much older, possibly even older than himself. That damn little brat, who had cut off his favorite right hand and turned his life into a living hell, now stood on the highest yardarm of the mainmast and glared at him with atypical gravity; saluting him with the sword he held.

This same boy had lain at his feet moments before, robbed off all strength, indifferently facing certain death. And then, the girl had given him a real kiss – a "thimble" was what she called it – and it had released the power of Neverland. Knowing that he was loved had washed the weakness and fright from the boy, had turned the tables yet again, and now the youth had the upper hand, and he – Captain James Hook – was sentenced to die.

The chanting now overwhelmed him, shutting out any other thoughts, until he only desired the final solution which could possibly bring him peace. He folded his arms before his chest and heard it once again, knowing perfectly well that they were right. He _WAS_ old – deep inside of him – alone for an eternity and, at last, really done for. For that dismal moment, his fighting spirit died and he yearned for one thing: to find forgetfulness and peace in death.

Without realizing it, he repeated their words. Closing his eyes he let himself fall – down, down and down … until the mighty jaws of the crocodile closed around him.

The foul smell that came out of the gullet of the animal was sickening, while he felt the croc's throat muscles around his legs start to swallow him. It is the way of crocodiles to swallow their prey whole and alive, and this one was no exception. In that moment, Hook's fury returned and drove out his mortal fear. No! This beast would not get him! He would never give in! Not he, who had escaped the king's Navy over and over again, not he who was feared even by Barbeque!

He pushed up his right arm and the deadly steal of his hook sliced the tongue of the lizard. An ear-deafening roar came out of the beast's throat – and Hook attacked again. Blood now covered him, but he didn't let it stop him. The metallic smell mingling with the stench of carrion and old fish threatened to knock him out, but it only stimulated him to eliminate this problem of the crocodile for once and all.

The mouth of the lizard opened and closed again, while it started to choke. Seawater splashed down on him and Hook knew that he would be lost if he were coughed out between the sharp teeth. Savagely, he kicked around him, and as his hard boots hit the lizard's gizzard and the skin-fold which every crocodile possesses to hold the water back during diving, the beast choked again.

The pirate-captain didn't think about where he was, what he was doing and what lay ahead of him, should he fail to kill this nightmare-monster with scales. The only thing in his mind that moment was to damage the creature as much as possible, to escape the slow and torturous death which would otherwise await him. He slashed every direction he could reach.

And then, suddenly, the giant jaws opened again and the crocodile spilled him out. He was deep underwater, and he could see above him the twinkle of the stars. The buccaneer had not much breath left, but he turned, ready to defend himself again, but below him, the crocodile sank toward the bottom, blood flowing from its mouth.

Hook could wait no longer, and with stern resoluteness, he swam to the surface, feeling the lack of oxygen as he catapulted himself upward. Finally, when he thought he couldn't bear the burn in his chest anymore, he broke through the surface and gasped the warm sweet air of Neverland into his lungs. It smelled better than all the perfume, soap and flowers of the world, because it meant life

Exhausted, he tread water and looked around for his ship. But what he finally saw caused him to gasp. The _Jolly Roger_, the proud galleon with its four masts and more than forty cannons, which he had called home for so long now, glistened in a golden light and was lifting out of the water. The sails, torn during the battle, were repaired as if a wizard's hand had brushed over them, and the dark red wood shimmered like polished mahogany as thousands of tiny, golden fairies took the mighty sailing ship through the air. Like a dark comet with a wide, golden tail the _Jolly Roger_ took to the skies, where it vanished between the stars.

Hook's gaze stayed at the point where he'd last seen his ship, and he felt an enormous loss. He trusted no human being, he bound himself to none other, and he had forbidden himself to feel affection for anyone. But it was quite another thing with his ship. There's a reason a seaman calls his ship his 'bride'. And it didn't matter in this case that Hook, as a pirate, was an outlaw. He was, after all, a seaman in his heart, and belonged to that group of men whose curiosity and courage were the reasons that the world seemed to shrink – and who viewed their ship not as a tool or a simple vessel, but as a kind of partner.

A cold wind startled him, and he saw the first clouds returning. This was a certain sign that the boy had left the island. Neverland always fell into winter whenever its little prince went away. Cursing, Hook started to swim toward the shore, south of Pirates Cove where his ship – usually – anchored. He had to hurry before the water cooled dangerously. He hoped the mermaids had fled into their underwater-lodgings to escape the approaching winter. Those vicious creatures were not only a temptation for any seaman, but they were deadly as well. They might be graceful, beautiful, and sing like their Latin name described: sirens – but they took their fun in drowning careless swimmers. And Hook hadn't survived the crocodile just to be killed by women with fish-tails!

Finally, as he had passed the high cliffs of Pirates Cove, and spotted the first shadows of the palms on the beach, he no longer had to fight against the current. It rather swept him toward the shore. The saltwater carried his weight, but he'd swallowed a lot of it. He was beyond exhaustion, and only his pride and stubbornness prevented him from giving up. Suddenly, he heard men shouting, and as he looked about, he recognized a number of colourfully dressed figures running toward him. At the head was a compact, older man with a grey beard and spectacles, who splashed into the surf to his captain.

It was rare that James Hook allowed any emotion – besides anger – to show, but now a genuine if tired smile spread across his face, and he didn't care. The waves washed them almost gently toward shore, and he felt his feet hit the sandy bottom. He wanted to stand up, but his knees gave way, and he stumbled. His long curly mane hung into his face and eyes and he spit the water out as he tried to rise again. Then he felt two robust hands gripping his arms and he was lifted on his feet.

"Cap'n!" he heard the familiar slurring voice beside him and found himself pressed to the wide chest of his bo'sun, "thank God you're alive, Sir!"

Tiredly Hook straightened his shoulders and accepted the help of the Irishman who was – perhaps – the only confidante he'd ever allowed into his life.

"Smee, you old Irish hen, so Davy Jones' locker had to wait a little longer for you, too."

Smee chuckled. "Aye, Sir. I've told that little red-headed gnome that I'd do good deeds, and that I never wanted to become a pirate." He shook his head. "Children! So easy to fool!"

Slowly, Hook regained the strength to stand alone, and Smee loosened his grip around his captain's arm. Carefully Hook straightened his whole body and moved to place his clothes in order, only to see that the beautiful dark red overcoat, waistcoat and shirt were torn, as well as his breeches. Grimacing, he made several uneasy steps. At last, he saw his men surrounding him, beaming at him, and cleared his throat. "Any casualties?" he asked hoarsely, and heard that his losses weren't as high as he feared. Noodler and Fogarty he himself had killed (so they couldn't be counted as battle losses). Cecco, the giant negro, and Mullins, the ship's carpenter, had run each other through, but had been brought to safety by their comrades. Alf Mason, the first gunman Billy Jukes, and the ship's cook Cookson had several scratches. Albino had a broken nose from the girl, from when she had thrown back her head. But all the other men – almost sixty – were not so much injured. Hook knew it could have been much worse.

A battle against children! For those unfamiliar with Neverland and its habitants, it might sound strange to think of grown men fighting against children and, worst of all, LOSING time and time again. But you might not know that these children weren't ordinary children. Life on the island was a game for them, as well as their battles against the pirates. Besides that, they had no fear, and faced any danger with carelessness, curiosity and a strong compulsion to play, which more than compensated for their lack of strength, size, and inexperience, and had helped them, once again, to win a battle that even an entire crew of merchant seamen or sailors could never have managed to do.

And the reason? Their leader – a half-grown boy who refused to grow up, who could fly even without the mystical fairy-dust, who spoke the language of the mermaids and fairies, who could handle a sword like an old general, and whose joyful and careless mind was his greatest weapon. The very same boy Hook had sworn to kill – and who had seized his ship and had taken it away!

"Cap'n, hav'ye seen--" Mullins started and pointed toward the skies.

Hook nodded shortly. "Yes, Mr. Mullins, it was hard to miss!"

"What now, Sir?" Cookson asked quietly and a murmuring from the crew was heard. The ship was their home, and without it, they had no place to stay, and the island was dangerous. Not only because of wild animals, but the Indians as well who were not their friends – not after the captain had used the chief's daughter, Tiger-Lily, as bait against his nemesis.

Hook looked over the sea, lost in thought. "He will come back!" he murmured after a while.

Smee frowned. "Are you certain, Cap'n? It could be that he'll stay with the girl. We all saw what happened to him after she kissed him."

The pirate-captain lifted a brow and slowly shook his head. "No, he will come back. He will not stay in London and grow up. It is not in his nature."

The old Irishman chewed the inside of his cheek. "With all respect, Cap'n, but you've been wrong about him once – for you thought him incapable of feelings."

On any other occasion, Hook would never allow criticism – nor allow someone to point out his mistakes. But in this case, Smee's words inspired him. "You're right, Smee, but this time, I am considering one important thing: the girl's influence. Women always change things, and there's no real difference between a girl or a woman." Musing, he watched the shimmer of the stars beyond the gathering clouds, and in his mind, he heard Wendy's laughter and saw her shy smile and her big blue-grey eyes as, in his memory, she glanced at him with curiosity and hidden admiration. "That girl was special," he murmured. "She captured the heart of everyone who crossed her path – even me, for a moment. I couldn't resist her, so why not the boy as well?"

He took a deep breath, remembering those moments that she sat in his cabin at the dining-table, smiling at him with the innocence of a child and the awakening charm of a young woman. She really had touched him. But, honestly, what man wouldn't be affected upon learning that he was the centre of a young girl's stories? But then other memories intruded -- how she had tricked him -- and he clenched his left hand into a fist. She had used that charm and his good form to save her friend and to give the boy back his reason to live by awakening the mightiest power of the universe: love.

"Of course, his heart grew beyond its old borders after she showed her affection for him so clearly." He stepped back to the water's edge, until the first waves washed around his soggy black boots. "But even her charm and her beauty will not be able to hold him there," he continued. "Yes, the boy is more like me than I like to admit. He requires freedom, independence, like I do."

For the briefest moment, pain showed in his forget-me-not-blue eyes – the longing for a life he could have had and he had never able to realize. Arrogance and youthful ignorance had directed his steps another way, until it was too late for him to turn away. And then the miserable moment was over and the hard-hearted pirate returned. "He will come back, I am sure of it. And it will be his downfall."

He turned around toward Smee, who had followed him. "He doesn't know that I'm still alive and so he will not be ready for my appearance when he returns. And then I'll have him – sooner or later!" He tilted his head back, and looked up at the sky preparing to snow. "You have won this battle, boy, but not the war! The day will come when you're in my power again, and then nothing in the world will save you, Peter Pan! And after him will be you, little girl. No one has ever dared to interfere like you have. And I will _NOT_ be beaten by a _girl_! I will not rest until I have brought you both to your knees! No one will escape my revenge!"

TBC…


	2. Growing Up Is Hard

**Chapter 1 – Growing Up is Hard**

London, six months later 

"But I don't want a bath!"

"Michael, you're worse than a cat about water!"

"Nibs is right!"

"Mind your own business, John. At least I won't get pimples at your age!"

"Who has pimples, you living freckle?"

"Freckles are normal for boys with auburn hair."

"Why do you always take his side, Curly?"

"Who else is going to stand up for the little guy? And, by the way, I have freckles as well."

"Hey, I am not so little anymore!"

"Really? You're so puny you can barely see over the edge of the carpet."

"WHAT?"

"That was--"

"--mean!"

"Can't you two say anything on your own?"

"Are you in bad mood, Nibs?"

"Me? Never!"

"Where are those shoes?"

"Under the bed, Slightly."

"Don't call him 'Slightly', Curly. You know Aunt Millicent doesn't like that name."

"Do I look like Aunt Millicent?"

"I'm hungry!"

"Dinner's in half an hour. Do you think you can survive until then, Tootles?"

The voices of the eight boys were clearly heard, in spite of the sturdy door at the bottom of the stairs that led to the new bedroom in the attic, and Nana almost – almost! – put her tail between her legs and beat a retreat from the room. The loyal St. Bernard's ears drooped, and she sighed deeply and shook her large head. The white cornet she was so proud of threatened to slip out of place, and she stopped in time to prevent it.

You, too, may find it curious that the family Darling employed a dog as a nurse, but Nana had proven that she was more than capable. Why, it was only last winter that she ran to notify her master and mistress (in no uncertain terms) that something strange was happening in the nursery. And if the master of the house had not banished her to the snowy doghouse in the garden earlier that evening (the result of the master's frustration over some little accident at the bank), she certainly could have prevented the catastrophe. For, in her absence, her charges had – literary – flown out of the window, along with a strange boy, and had returned with several more 'little ones' some time later. Since then, she had more work than ever. (During the time the children were gone, the master took to staying in her doghouse and moaning, but the less said about that, the better.)

She snorted through her sensible nose, laid one white paw on the door, and pushed it open.

The view was normal: Several boys were chasing each other through the room, and the smallest, her own Michael, took off the moment he saw her. Only one thing was different this time: another boy was here for a visit, the adopted son of the sister of Nana's master. His name was now Robert, but his friends still called him the name his former leader had given him: Slightly.

Slightly was a thin pale boy with large, beautiful eyes of deep brown, a clear look and a deliberate manner – which is why he had been the second-in-command of the Lost Boys, when Peter wasn't at hand.

Nana sighed and gave a loud "wuff" before she started to round up Michael, who shook his red strains at her. "No! A hundred pirates couldn't get me into that tub!" he shouted – something the dog had heard many times. Ignoring the boy's protest, she went straight at him, with the result that moments later, a wild hunt had started. Nana had hoped not to make so much noise, but of course all the boys joined in the game. As always, they used this nightly exercise to hone their hunting skills, protecting the youngest against her as if she were a tiger. Frustrated, Nana barked gruffly. If only the master and mistress were home! She really had her work cut out for her tonight!

One level down, a slender, pretty girl looked toward the ceiling, the ceiling fixture beginning to bob seriously, while shouts, laughter, and the sound of running bare feet continued overhead. She was sorely tempted to forget all the exhortations of her aunt, to run up the stairs and to join the boys in their play.

Wendy Moira Angela Darling sighed deeply, bit her full lower lip and pushed a strand of her long hair away from her heart-shaped face. Her big blue-grey eyes, "eyes bright enough to light up all of London" (so her father liked to say) were now sad as she looked through the dark lashes to the thick carpet at her feet.

So many things had happened since their return from Neverland. Her father had insisted that she take 'lessons' with her maiden aunt, Millicent Darling, who had sworn to turn her into a young lady, no matter what. With a firm hand, she taught her to 'move gracefully' (by balancing a book on her head as she walked, turned, conversed), what topics were allowed during a conversation, how to run a household (with servants), how to play the piano (the only part of her training Wendy loved), how to embroider and to paint (which she also enjoyed) and – the height of polite social nonsense – how to be a "good conversationalist," what answers were proper for a young lady.

At last, she understood why her father always had such difficulty with "small talk." As far as she could tell, all those meaningless comments were only a mask everyone was forced to wear, and forbidding a girl to look into a man's eyes was, in her opinion, completely inappropriate. This gave the appearance of shyness, or fear, which she certainly was not! Heavens, she had dared to look into Captain Hook's eyes even as he threatened her with his metal claw. But here, in London, at the dawn of the 20th century, it was considered indecent for a polite young lady. And the thought that this behavior was now expected from her almost made her sick.

Oh yes, Wendy hated the rules. Once she had told Peter that his desire for eternal childhood was his biggest pretend – but she learned since then that the adult world was the biggest pretend of all. No one could say what they really thought. Society even dictated which topics were suitable for men and which were for women. Wendy didn't understand why it was forbidden for women to think critically about old habits, to discuss ships, weapons, strategies, foreign countries (besides smiling about them), and science.

Wendy really was fascinated by natural science, and was curious about everything – medicine, plants, manufacturing -- but the only thing she was allowed was foreign languages. Preferably French, because this was still the language of the nobles. She had wanted to learn Spanish as well, but her aunt had convinced her father that she must concentrate on French and – of course – her deportment lessons.

Worst of all, she was forbidden to speak of the strange feelings which swept through her every time she thought of Peter Pan. Surprisingly, her mother was not shocked when she told her about the feelings the boy awoke in her. Mary Darling had even taken her into her arms, when Wendy admitted that she had already given her first hidden kiss – and at such a young age. Mary had thought it sweet, and Wendy was grateful to have someone who understood her.

Her aunt might have come from the other side of the world, for she appeared shocked to the core by her confession. This was simply NOT DONE, to speak about something so uncouth, so base, as strong feelings – and, worst of all, to kiss a strange boy! And sternly, she forbade this theme from that moment on.

Wendy sighed as a loud protest reached her through the ceiling (Michael was finally caught) and went to the balcony doors. Her eyes reached out to the darkening skies, and she opened one of the French doors, stepping onto the tiny balcony. Humid summer air surrounded her. It was unusually warm this day, and the energy in the air foretold a thunderstorm. The smell of the new industries pervaded London. They had shot out of the ground like fungus over the last years, sending their horrid smells, and dark smoke across the country.

What a change from the air of Neverland! The aroma of sweet flowers, resinous trees and salt sea hung all over the island, pierced by the soft jingling of the fairies, the songs of the birds and the waves of the sea.

Here, in London, the only noises were the clattering of horse hooves, the grate of the horse-train, the voices of the workers on their way home and the whistles of the train in Victoria-Station. From far away, Big Ben tolled mightily, marking the six o'clock in the evening. Even though the Darlings lived near Kensington Gardens, there was no escaping the noise of a city. It never seemed to rest. The only green you could find was in the parks or in the gardens, and people hastened through this approaching era of machinery without recognizing that they were missing everything dear in this life.

Wendy leaned her head on the doorframe and watched the roiling clouds for any sign of a special boy. Peter had promised her that he wouldn't forget her, that he would come back. But since their adventure in Neverland and their victory over Captain Hook, a half year had passed without a trace of the eternal boy or his fairy-companion, Tinker Bell.

"Where are you, Peter?" Wendy whispered. "Are you still back in Neverland or are you here in my world, seeking out new friends who will share your adventures?" She folded her hands in front of her chest and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. "Please come back, Peter. Please! I miss you so!" Her hand fumbled for the gold chain around her neck, where she still wore the acorn Peter had given her in return for her thimble (which he had mistaken for a kiss – a circumstance that had later saved her life) and Tootles' arrow had been caught in its flesh. The eternal boy was caught in it, too (so to speak), when she had used this misunderstanding to trick Hook and to give Peter her hidden kiss.

Wendy wore this acorn constantly – much to the irritation of her aunt and her teacher, Mrs. Fulsom. This was another 'grown-up-thing' Wendy didn't understand. Yes, of course the golden crucifix she had received on her birthday was expensive and quite beautiful, but the old acorn with its hole held a special significance.

"Wendy? Dinner is ready!" called Liza from the first floor, and the girl awoke from her daydream.

"Coming, Liza!" she called back. Before Neverland, they couldn't afford the little maid, and it would have been impossible for her mother and father to care for eight children. But thanks to Michael's "donation" from Hook's treasure (via Smee), the family was now wealthy. Mr. Darling, as a banker, had invested a major part of the valuable gems and gold, which was returning a handsome profit, and the rest – the bracelets, rings and necklaces – were official heirlooms of the family.

But even with their new wealth, the Darlings kept their home at Number 14 Bloomsbury-Street, enlarging it for all the boys, and remained as respectable and well-spoken as ever. (Along with George Darling's outstanding work), this was why the bank manager, Sir Edward Quiller-Couch, had promoted him to the managing committee; and also why Mr. and Mrs. Darling were able to leave for a holiday to Scotland a week ago.

"Wendy! Please come down now!" Liza's insistent reminder brought a heavy sigh from the girl, and she quickly she went downstairs to the dining-room.

Aunt Millicent, an unmarried woman in her forties, with brown hair just beginning to silver, brown eyes and elegant deportment (if slightly old-fashioned), was waiting for her, and gave her a stern look. "You're late," she greeted her niece.

"I'm sorry," Wendy said automatically, and her aunt knew she hadn't meant it.

Millicent Darling sighed. Her niece was still more child than woman, even with the first signs in her body of the change that would come soon. And when she wore her air pinned up, as she did now (which was unusual for a girl her age, but Millicent allowed it on a day as hot as this one) the woman that lurked just under her skin could be dimly seen. Her movements had become more graceful and her face had lost some of the childish curves. But, even so, she was a girl-child. "Please, sit down," Millicent smiled and took her brother's seat. "Your brothers and your cousin will hopefully follow shortly."

Wendy sat down on her mother's chair, which made her aunt lift a brow. "Do you really think that is your place to take, Wendy?"

The girl took a deep breath the old argument – every night since her aunt kept house -- began anew. "Mother is not here and I've been a mother to the boys before."

Millicent watched her niece closely. There it was again, that pride which turned into rebelliousness – something the elder Miss Darling secretly admired, but which she could not allow to develop. She knew that this sort of behavior could chase away every appropriate suitor, and she didn't want her niece to go through life without a husband, as she had. "To be a mother means more than telling stories and tucking children into bed, my dear."

Wendy straightened her shoulders. "I know. A mother fights for her children – like I have."

Millicent swallowed a frustrated sigh. Of course, she had heard the stories after the children returned from that mysterious island not found on any map. And she had her own opinion regarding an adventure with pirates, but refrained from speaking of it now. "You will see, my dear, that there are more ways to fight than with a sword – which would be most improper for a young lady."

"You prefer a fight with words, Aunt?"

"A lady never fights with words, but with her charms. Fighting with words is something for fishwives." She filled her glass with a sherry. "You've made so much progress in the last few weeks, Wendy, and sometimes I can glimpse, as though from afar, the elegant, well-bred woman you will become. That is, if you ever stop daydreaming about pirates and fairies and a flying boy that no one has ever seen, except you and your brothers."

The girl frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Millicent asked and sipped her sherry. "To put it another way: I think that those attributes of Peter Pan that you admire are merely the result of your imagination, and--"

"Peter is no imagination!" Wendy retorted, with eyes flashing.

A tiny frown appeared between her aunt's brows, but she didn't miss a beat. "You must never interrupt a grown-up when they're speaking, Wendy dear. And, by the way, you misunderstood me. Yes, the boy may exist. Robert has told me quite a lot about him," Wendy sighed when she heard the name Slightly now bore, "and I am sure that this Peter must be a clever boy. But honestly, Wendy, if he really has grown in the wilderness on a strange island, with no guidance, then he has no reputation nor family nor—"

"Oh, Aunt Millicent! You don't need status, money or family to have reputation! I think risking your life for your friends, bravely facing your enemies, and putting the welfare of others before your own is more than sufficient propriety and nobility to acquire a 'reputation'!"

For a moment, the master's sister was silent, then took a deep breath. "Your point of view is well-intentioned, I am sure, but," here she held up a long index finger, "one, you've interrupted me again," the middle finger appeared beside it, "two, you're far too young to understand the whole picture and," the ring finger joined the other two, "three, I forbid you to daydream any longer about a half savage on a remote island. Instead, you need to concentrate on what is increasingly important in preparing you for your future."

Wendy felt her cheeks warm, not from embarrassment but anger. Whenever anyone dared show lack of respect for her Peter, her emotional temperature rose. That, combined with the numerous admonitions she received and the tension of the weather outside, coupled with the odd changes in her body and soul, now caused her to lose her temper. "For example, how to curtsey properly, who I may look in the eye, and when I must say 'yes' or 'no'?"

Her aunt again lifted a brow, hearing the tone in Wendy's voice. "Yes, for example," she answered calmly.

"And when I've had enough of this masquerade?"

"This 'masquerade', young lady, is how it is done!"

"But it's all pretension and lies! Why does no one try to change this?"

"Because this is how the world works. By the way, this is not a polite topic of discussion for a woman."

"Why not? Are we less intelligent than men? Are we incapable of thinking logically? Why is it improper for a woman to be an author? Men write." The girls eyes blazed with righteous indignation. "Why are we required to organized the household and then shut up as soon as the men begin to talk about anything interesting? Why do we have to ride sidesaddle, even if it is more dangerous than riding astride as the men do? Why is it shocking that I like playing sports? Why is it only _men_ are allowed in politics? Queen Victoria is a woman, you know, Aunt, and that proves--"

"Child!" Aunt Millicent gasped and threw her hands up. "I hope you are NOT thinking of becoming a Suffragette, like some old wicked rebellious wife who has nothing better to do than to challenge tradition and old values! Women in politics! Wendy, I'm shocked and appalled!"

Wendy straightened her small shoulders. "And why not? Men wage wars, and we have to pay the price for it. So why don't we have some say in it?"

"Because, child, we do not have the right. We all have a role to play in the world, and--"

"A role?" Wendy's cheeks turned red.

"Yes, the role of a decent and loyal God-fearing woman!" her aunt said firmly and with irritation in her voice. _Good heavens, taming this girl was a challenge!_

"If I can only look forward to _playing a role_, then I should have taken the offer Captain Hook made. Then I would be playing the role which fits me the best: a pirate, a privateer – or as rebel, as you like to call me behind my back."

Millicent had lifted her sherry-glass again, but put it done. "I don't like your tone, young lady! And please stop repeating this nonsense about a pirate captain. I've heard more than enough stories about the infamous Captain Hook, and if he really existed the way you describe him, I thank the Lord that he is dead."

Wendy's heart beat wildly now. Even if she had learned to fear the buccaneer more than anything else, and even if he had tried to kill her, she still felt a thrill at the very thought of him. That had never changed, though she never understood it. He was the dark shadow in the light, the villain every story needed, and the danger in the ordinary life that she yearned to escape. And sometimes, in quiet moments, she felt guilt at participating in his death. Yes, he had deserved it, but still-- "I wish he weren't dead!" she said softly, fiercely. "I wish he would come straight through this door. Maybe he could teach you a few things about real life. He may have been a murderer and pirate, but he never pretended to be someone else. He didn't hide behind a mask and a mountain of lies, but told the truth. He stood for his way of life and had the courage to live it – exactly as Peter did. Can you say the same about yourself, Aunt Millicent?"

"That is enough!" Millicent's voice rose. "Go to your room. Perhaps doing without your dinner will teach you some manners!"

Wendy rose, eyes blazing. "If telling the truth is forbidden in a grownup's world, then I don't want to grow up! Peter warned me about that, but I was too blind or cowardly to take the chance he offered me!"

Millicent's hand slammed the table, her own control slipping for a moment as well. Then she collected herself again. "You will go to your room now, or I will use the switch."

For a second Wendy paled, then she lifted her head. "I will defend myself, Aunt Millicent, be sure of it."

"You wouldn't dare!" Miss Darling gasped. "Not against a discipline you deserve!"

"A discipline I deserve? Discipline for what – telling the truth?"

"Enough! I really have tried to be patient with you, Wendy, but you have gone too far. As soon as your parents return, I will talk to George about sending you off to a finishing school – possibly even a convent school. There they will take the humbug out of you and turn you – we can only hope – into a decent woman. You shame your whole family!"

Tears burned Wendy's eyes, but still she stood her ground. "Why? Because I don't crawl like a mouse and won't be broken in like a horse?"

"Leave this room! I've failed in teaching you manners, but you will not force me to lose my temper!"

"You already have!" Wendy shouted back, and pointed to the splashed sherry, evidence of Millicent's striking the table. "And you will not banish me into a boarding school! Instead, I will run away!" With that, she whirled around and stalked out of the dining-room, head lifted and shoulders back.

At the door, she nearly collided with eight boys, who were listening on the staircase, shocked by the encounter. "If you're hungry, then go to her," Wendy flung her arm back to indicate her aunt. "She is most accomplished at doling out sweets and punishment!" she hissed, throwing a furious look over her shoulder. Without exception, the boys followed her up the stairs and back toward their nursery.

--------------------

Big Ben sounded twelve times. Midnight. And Wendy couldn't sleep. After the passionate quarrel with her aunt, she had retreated to her room, changed into a thin nightgown, yanked the pins from her hair and had thrown herself onto her bed, shedding bitter tears. Of course, she knew that she said far too much in a most combative tone, and that she should apologize to her aunt, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. This quarrel had been long overdue, had churned in her stomach for weeks now, and finally exploded.

Dabbing at her tears with a soggy handkerchief, she sniffled again, then blew her nose on it. Sometimes it felt as if she didn't know herself anymore. She felt so alien in body and mind – like a stranger in her own skin. Her monthlies had begun two months ago, and she thought these feelings must be connected with this further step toward growing up, but could growing up truly cause her to feel so very strange? Her mother had warned her that her feelings would be strong and confusing, but now the time had come, and Mary Darling wasn't here to help her. And Wendy needed her mother just now. She couldn't talk about this all with Aunt Millicent. Her brothers, who always had an open ear for her, would never understand. Why had everything becoming so … so … complicated? So baffling?

For a second, she heard the dark voice of James Hook in the room: "Growing up is such a barbarous business – full of … inconvenience … and pimples--"

Like the voice of a ghost, she heard herself answering: "Things were so much simpler when I was younger." She thought she could see his forget-me-not-blue eyes before her – full of understanding and knowledge, as though being honest with her for that moment. "And then the mess starts! The feelings come--" Oh yes, she had to admit now, like it or not, that this strong, cruel pirate had been right. Everything was a mess now and her feelings were running away with her, as he had predicted.

Wendy sighed, turning now onto her back, staring up at the dark ceiling. Hook had been right, but Peter had been right, too. Well, maybe it really was easier without feelings. They complicated everything. But, on the other hand, they could be so glorious, so beautiful – or catastrophic, like this evening. If Aunt Millicent followed through on her threat, convincing her father to send her to boarding-school, then she would not only be separated from her brothers, but lose all hope of seeing Peter again, if he should return. And this was her greatest fear.

"Peter, where are you?" she sniffled and a sob escaped her. "You were so right about everything. Please come back!" She covered her face back with a large fluffy pillow, and started to weep for a long time. "Please come back!" she eventually murmured into the feathers. A hand touched her shoulder, but the girl decided to ignore it. She didn't want to face any of her brothers now – or Aunt Millicent. She didn't want to see anyone but a special boy, who was far away and free!

"Wendy?" the voice with the first hint of depth murmured at her ear, and Wendy threw the pillow aside and bolted up like a flash, startling her visitor and sending him into the air. The girl's eyes found the slender figure, plastered against the ceiling as though people did it every day. A shock of sandy-golden locks surrounded his face, and the scent of sea, forest, moss and freedom surrounded him like an aura. "Peter?" she whispered, hardly daring to trust her own eyes. "Is it really you?" The boy descended to the floor beside her bed and propped his fists on his hips – a gesture and pose so dear, so familiar that it made Wendy's breath stop. Wiping the tears from her face, she appraised him up and down.

He hadn't changed the slightest, still clad in leaf-woven trousers that wound around his upper body and over his left shoulder. Over the right shoulder, he wore a kind of weapon-sash, made of liana, and a thinner liana was wound twice around his left upper arm. His weapon was a short dagger and on his belt, made out of the same material as the sash. There too hung his pan-pipe, with which he called the mermaids, signal his friends, and played sweet little melodies to enchant the animals. His feet were bare, and as he pushed a stubborn curl from his forehead, his grubby fingers revealed that he still didn't feel water was for little more than drinking. As he cocked his head, Wendy could see the dimpled smile in his unruly face, while his crystal blue eyes sparkled. "You're back," she whispered, as if she had to convince herself.

The eternal boy shrugged and bit his lower lip. "The stars told me that you were in trouble, and so I came." That was another thing no grow-up would ever understand. Stars were parts of the universe, celestial bodies, balls of gas which they counted and catalogued, and they would never speak! But for Peter, they were friends who showed him his way home, their variable light a sort of language he had learned. (Someone once told us that "that's only what they're made of, not what they _are."_)

Peter glanced at Wendy. He was quite forgetful of things and people who didn't cross his path any longer, because he was always thinking about his next adventure. What was happening _now_ mattered so much more that what had happened already. But something had happened with Wendy from the very first beginning – the same girl who now sat with tear-stained face before him.

She hadn't changed at all, or so he thought. She still had the same large blue-grey eyes he never tired of looking into, and the same shy smile that had made his heart beat faster whenever she sent it his direction. At one time, he had feared the odd awareness that flooded him whenever she was near and looked straight at him, but in the terrifying moments he had lain beaten at Hook's feet knowing he would die, these strange feelings had saved him. And he never would forget how he felt when she 'thimbled' him. It was something he often revisited in his dreams.

And so, it was with some shock that he found her sobbing and pleading for him to return. It woke the strange urgency in him to protect her, and a hot anger toward the one who had made her cry. He couldn't stand to see her sad, and he instinctively knew who was responsible. "It's the grown-ups, isn't it?" he asked, kneeling in front of her on the mattress. Hesitantly he lifted one finger and captured one of her tears on it. No 'decent boy' would have ever dared to do such a thing – to sit half naked on the bed of a young girl who in her night things – but Peter had spent the last unknown count of years in the wilderness of Neverland, and so it was a natural thing for him. And Wendy's nightdress was the only thing he'd ever seen her in.

Finally he bent forward, their faces only inches apart. "I'm right, aren't I? It's the grownups?"

Wendy was almost unable to answer, her sobs catching in her throat. Her biggest wish had come true. Peter was back, bending over her, looking at her with those clear eyes which had captured her the first time she looked in them. Without wasting another thought, she flung her arms around him, not recognizing that he grew stiff, and started to weep again. Peter was back! Now everything would be all right again. He would protect her, as he had done it before in Neverland! He would take her away from here, away from her aunt, her strange prim teacher and the life she loathed with all her might.

Peter looked uncertainly at the little golden ball of light which followed him into the room only moments ago, and met Tinker Bell's gaze. The fairy looked at the sobbing girl with compassion. Yes, she had been jealous of this girl, but in the end – when it appeared everything would be lost – Wendy had saved her Peter, and for that the fairy would be grateful until the end of time. And so she really felt pity for the bundle of misery clinging to the boy like a lifeline. She made a gesture and chimed something.

Peter frowned. Should he--? Tink made a disgusted noise and slapped her tiny hand on her forehead. By the tails of the mermaids, this boy was really slow sometimes! Impatiently she chimed again, and shyly Peter awkwardly returned the embrace until it grew tighter – without him recognizing it. "What happened?" he asked quietly, and felt anger welling up in him again at the thought that someone would harm his Wendy.

The girl took a deep shuddering breath and laid her cheek on his shoulder over the crisp leaves. With a quavering voice, she told him about the quarrel, and the lessons with her aunt, and how there was no one to talk to, how everyone tried to change her into something she couldn't be and what lay ahead for her if she were forced to attend boarding-school.

Peter listened, and even if he didn't understand it all, he realized that his Wendy was in deep water. He still held her close – which made him nervous but also gave him a feeling of power – and took a deep breath. "Typical grown-ups!" he responded. "They want you to be like them, but only as long as they can order you around. Otherwise, you just have to shut up and obey." He angrily shook his head. "I will not let your aunt lock you away in some brooding-school!"

"Boarding-school," Wendy corrected with a sniffle. "I would be away from all the boys, watched over day and night, and have bars over my windows."

Peter started. There was nothing he dreaded more than being caught and locked in a cage. He'd rather die! And even the prospect of dying wasn't the great adventure he once thought. Resolutely, he straightened his back. "No one will lock you up!" he swore, and gently took Wendy's shoulders, meeting her teary gaze with his heated one. "I'll never let that happen to you!"

There it was again! The will to protect and to fight to death that she admired so much. He bent forward again and she could feel his warm breath on her face, while his familiar tempting smile played on his lips. "Come with me," he whispered. "Come with me back to Neverland where you'll never be forced to do stupid grownup things!"

Half ashamed, half hopefully she looked at him. "Do you want me there again? Even after I called it your biggest pretend?"

Peter grinned. "Everyone makes mistakes – even clever girls." He blushed a little and lowered his gaze.

Wendy sniffled again and laughed quietly, then whacked his arm. "Oh, Peter Pan, you're impossible, and--" she bit her full lips, "I've missed you!" He gave her a sunny grin, while Tink made an annoyed sound. The fairy had known that the flirting would begin anew as soon as the two of them were reunited. "Peter, what about the rest of the--"

"—all the boys? Of course they can come with us. As long as the Lost Boys are together, no grownup will ever be able to defeat us!"

Wendy refrained from hugging him about the neck again, and disentangled her legs from the comforter. "I must pack some things that I'll need there. And I still have the sword and belt from Hook's ship and--"

"Hook's alive," the boy's told her calmly, and Wendy stared at him in shock.

"He's alive?" she squeaked and her eyes widened in silent horror.

Peter nodded slowly. "Yes! He reclaimed the _Jolly Roger_ the day after I returned it to Neverland." He sat back, leaning against the footboard. "The doors around me tore open, the crew emerged, and Hook appeared on the bridge," he told her, remembering facing an enemy he believed dead. He could still see the icy smile on Hook's face, as he greeted Pan with mocking politeness, doffing his hat. "'Hello Peter! It seems we both have more lives than a cat!' he told me, and then he signaled to his men to attack." Even now, Peter didn't know how he managed to escape. He bit his lips. "I first thought I'd gone mad. There are ghosts in Neverland, but none of them looks like Hook. He soon proved he was no imagination. I don't think I ever flew so fast."

Wendy's heart seemed ready to burst out of her chest. "But-- the crocodile swallowed him whole. We all saw it!"

The eternal boy nodded. "That probably allowed him to escape. The mermaids told me later that they found the crocodile dead on shore, just about the spot we saw it vanishing after it swallowed Hook, its gullet torn through. He must have torn it apart with his hook, when it gulped him down."

Wendy sat against the headboard, holding her knees. It didn't take much imagination to picture what happened between man and beast. But the tale shocked her deeply in that the dangerous man was still alive. Yes, she had secretly wished that the battle hadn't ended with his demise, but learning that he still sailed Neverland's waters, seeking vengeance on Peter, frightened her. She remembered the quarrel with her aunt and laughed grimly. "I told my Aunt Millicent that I wished he wasn't dead and that he'd teach her about real life – life without the proper phrases, courtly manners and approved subjects for discussion." She shook her head and snorted. "I really must be careful what I wish for."

Peter grinned and shrugged. "He isn't alive 'cuz you wished it, even after what he did to you. He's alive because he never gives up. He has a strong will to live, and the old codfish knows how to fight, I must admit!"

Wendy giggled when she heard the nickname Peter had used before. "Why codfish?" she asked, and giggled again as Peter jumped up, straightened his shoulders and start to march across the floor in a perfect imitation of Hook.

"Because he moves like he swallowed one whole." He was relieved to hear his friend's laughter, and looked back over his shoulder at Wendy. Her eyes sparkled again, and seeing her gleeful face made him feel good. But then he turned serious. "I have to warn you, if you really want to come with me. Hook has defeated the enemy he feared the most, perhaps the only one he ever feared, and has taken his ship. He is stronger and more vengeful than ever. And it's not only me and the Lost Boys he's after. He must be furious with you and your brothers, too. Especially with you."

Paling slightly, Wendy swallowed. "Why?" she asked in a small voice.

Peter returned to the bed and sat down again. "Just think: He made you walk the plank to weaken me, and then you reappear, alive and fit as a fiddle. Then you prevent him from gutting me, and at last you trick him with our… misunderstanding regarding a thimble and a… a kiss." He soft pink crept into his cheeks and Wendy blushed as well. Peter cleared his throat. "You can be sure he's pretty mad at you."

A deep sigh escaped the girl. To stand in the pirate's way was one thing. But to be the object of his lust for vengeance was another entirely. She knew that she would be in great danger if she met him alone in Neverland. But why in the world should she be alone on the magical island? Peter would be there, her brothers and friends as well, and there were still the Indians. She and Tiger-Lily were friends, and she knew that the tribe would protect her, if she were in need. Leaning forward, she gripped Peter's hand, who looked nervously at their entwined fingers. "I don't care if Hook is back. We beat him once and we can do it again. He doesn't stand a chance against us, as long as we stay together."

A broad smile split Peter's face. "Are you really sure, Wendy?"

She nodded. "Yes! I'll come with you. Sure, Hook frightens me, but he isn't the only one."

The boy cocked his head, puzzled. "Whom else do you fear?"

"I don't fear her like I do Hook, for she doesn't want to end my life, just turn it into a living hell."

"Who?" He sat up, putting his hand on his blade.

"Miss Fulsom, my teacher at school. She must twice the age of my aunt, three times more fossilized in her manners, and always threatens me with a switch if I don't bow under her frown."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Worse than Hook, alright," he mocked her softly.

Wendy frowned. "Hey, you don't know the old dragon!"

A chuckle escaped his throat. "No, and I'm sure I don't want to. But, honestly, I never had problems with dragons. They are vain sometimes, but not really _bad_. Their reputation is far worse than they really are."

Wendy blinked twice and stared at him, jaw dropping. _Dragons in Neverland?_

Peter saw her look and nodded. "Yes, sometimes they stop on the island while migrating. I remember one time, when one of their cubs--"

Tink suddenly vaulted into mid air, listened carefully and flew to Peter, gripping his belt. "Someone is coming," the boy whispered, as the night wind made the window curtains flutter.

And then both friends saw the flash that parted the sky. The sultry weather now unloaded itself in a mighty thunderstorm. And as the first bolt of lightning crashed over London, the two children jolted. Peter bit his lips. He couldn't allow a grown-up would find him here. But he also couldn't fly into the thunderstorm. It was too dangerous, even for him. Wendy gripped his wrist and pointed. "Under the bed with you," she whispered. "No one will find you there. You too, Tink!"

The boy hesitated a moment, then dropped down and slipped beneath the bed. Reluctantly, Tinker Bell followed him. She had foreseen such problems, but had he listened to her? No! As if he ever would!

Wendy lay down and pulled the comforter over her, pretending to be asleep, and not a moment too soon. The door was quietly opened and an expensive flowery perfume announced Aunt Millicent's arrival. The girl heard her aunt take a deep breath and move to the window; a moment later a soft click from the window closing sounded. Peter watched the older lady's shoes moving back and forth across the room, and exchanged a look with Tink, hiding her light in his hands. The boy had come to hate locked windows after he tried to return to his parents' home after running away as little more than a baby. It was then he had found his own window closed and locked, and had seen his mother caring for another child. It had been a deep trauma for the small boy.

It seemed to take forever before the woman finally closed the door behind her. Peter let out the breath he was holding, for he had to rein in his instinct for attack and defense. Suddenly Wendy's sweet face appeared at the ruffle, her long hair a waterfall. "Everything all right down there?" she asked teasingly.

Peter grimaced and crawled out. "I hate closed windows!" he grumbled, then gasped as thunder cracked nearby again. "And I hate thunderstorms!" he added, annoyed. Tink had sat down on Wendy's pillow, chiming. Peter nodded. "I know, Tink. We have to return home before the sun rises. But I can't fly in this weather."

Wendy pushed her hair behind her ears. "Why?"

Peter glanced back at her. "The second star to the right is my guide to Neverland. After the sun rises, it vanishes, and I'm stuck here for the whole day. And my greatest danger is being caught by grownups." Another flash lit the skies, followed by thunder. "But the risk of being struck by lightning is too high. Once I tried flying through a thunderstorm, nearly got struck, and ended up burning my leg. That really hurt."

Wendy considered his words, then smiled. "I've an idea." She slipped out of bed, listened at the door, then locked it quietly. Turning, she explained: "You stay here and sleep. I'll set the alarm to wake us in three hours. By then, it'll be still night, but maybe the storm will have passed."

Peter stared at her. If he did as she suggested, he would give himself completely into her hands. And he knew that Wendy wanted him to stay and to grow up with her– something that was not going to happen. But, on the other hand, he had no other choice.

Wendy saw his hesitation, and looked hurt. "Don't you trust me?" she whispered, and her glance told Peter how much his answer mattered.

"If I don't trust you, who then?" he murmured, and his uncertain expression turned into an uncertain smile. "You can be sure we'll wake up?"

The girl nodded, fetched the clock and manipulated it, then tucked it under her pillow. "So I hear it when it rings," she explained, "but my pillow will muffle the sound enough so it won't be heard outside this room. Otherwise, Nana could wake up and make a frightful fuss."

Peter returned to the bed, loosened his belt with the pan-pipe, pulled the weapon-sash over his head and lay both on the floor. Wendy smiled and slipped under her comforter, joined a moment later by the boy. Eyes wide, Wendy sat up and stared at him. She thought he would rest on the little sofa, but he took her by surprise. She wasn't prudish, but she was a young girl and he was, after all, a boy!

Peter misunderstood her expression, and looked at his feet. "Sorry, they're a little dirty," he apologized, ignorant of the fact that his feet weren't the only part of his body that needed a bath. The girl knew that Peter, in his innocence, wouldn't see anything wrong in his behavior – and decided to send the proper Miss Darling out of the room for the rest of the night. This was _her_ Peter, for God's sake, and if he wanted to sleep beside her, she would be the last person in the world to tell him no. Still a little uncomfortable, she lay down again and faced him.

He snuggled into the comforter and yawned. It certainly was better to lie in a soft, comfortable bed than to get a soaking from the rain that pelted against the windows now. He met Wendy's eyes and grinned. "This definitely is better than dodging lightning," he whispered and the girl snickered.

"Told you so." She took a deep breath. "I've missed you."

Peter, still avoiding any kind of feelings, bit his lips and lowered his gaze, before he shyly responded: "I missed you, too."

Wendy's heart beat faster and as she gave him a wide smile, the darkness couldn't hide his blush. "Good night," she murmured and Peter rubbed his nose.

"Good night, Wendy-Lady. And don't be afraid of the old codfish when we get back. I'll protect you."

"I know. I can hardly wait to go with you back to Neverland, and Hook can go to hell!"

Peter smirked. "Don't let him hear you. I don't think it would be to your advantage."

Wendy lifted a brow. "I would say it straight into his arrogant face."

"His ugly face, you mean!"

The girl sighed. "He isn't that ugly, Peter. There are men far uglier than he."

The boy pushed the pillow into a more comfortable position. "He is old and ugly! But you're right. Compared to his men, he doesn't look so bad."

Tink glanced at Wendy and made a face, tossing her tiny head in Peter's direction. Every female in Neverland could see the rugged attraction of the captain, but Peter would never admit it.

Silence laid a soft blanket over the room, and the boy's breathing grew steady. Wendy glanced through her eyelashes at Peter. He was back – and she was going with him back to Neverland. Her deepest desire had come true! She sighed and smiled.

A slight movement caught her attention as the fairy snuggled into the pillow and gave her a look of warning. "Don't worry, Tink," she whispered. "I'll wake him in time. I know that he'd be so unhappy here, and I would never let that happen to him."

Slightly mollified, Tinker Bell nodded and relaxed. Only minutes later everyone in the Darling-house was sound asleep while the storm rolled overhead.

It wouldn't be the last stormy weather these children would face…

TBC…


	3. Back to Neverland

**Chapter 2 – Back to Neverland **

Someone shook his shoulder and Slightly tried to brush the hand away. Unsuccessfully Whomever this hand belonged to was certainly obstinate. A persistent face came to mind: "John, lemme 'lone!" he murmured.

There was a muffled snigger, and Slightly grew impatient. "Egad, John, it's the middle of the night - go back to bed!"

The hand shook him harder this time, and the sniggering turned into stifled laughter – not John's, that was certain, this one so familiar to him because he'd heard it most of his life. Eyes flying open, he sat up and looked straight into the smirking face of his former leader. "Peter!" he whispered joyfully. "Good Lord, you're back!"

The other nodded cheerfully. "Thought I should look in on you lads!"

Slightly beamed, then his face turned serious. "Good thing you came. Wendy's having an awful--"

Peter shook his curls. "Don't worry, she's fine now. She's waking the others."

Slightly saw her silhouette moving among the beds in the dark room. "Good!" he sighed in relief, then his glance wandered through the nursery. "Where's Tink? Did she come with you?"

"Sure. She's outside on watch, just in case."

The second in command of the Lost Boys chuckled. "Poor Liza, poor Mum, if they dared to come up here!" Mortals tended to underestimate the tiny creatures.

Pointing at the large chest at the foot of the bed, Peter told him, "Get whatever you care to bring. We're returning to Neverland."

For a second, Slightly could only stare at him, then he jumped up as if bitten. Even if he loved his stepmother, Millicent Darling, and felt quite at home in the Darling house, he often yearned for Neverland. After all, there he had grown from a forgotten infant into a half-grown boy, had found a sort of home and many irreplaceable friends. And so he would always long to visit this special home. And whatever Peter was involved in, you could be damn sure adventure lay ahead!

Nibs and Curly awoke in the meantime, as well as the twins and Tootles. John slipped out of his bed along with Michael, who still held his Taddy to his chest, beaming at the visitor in the middle of the nursery. Moments later, Peter found himself surrounded by his friends; all grinning and trying desperately to stifle their exuberance. Questions about Neverland and his intentions rained down on him, and he tried to answer them all. Only one question made them all laugh: John asked how Tiger-Lily was doing. Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Good, as far as I know."

"Has, uh, has she asked about … about me?"

The other boy scratched his head, pretending to think hard. "You know, I really can't remember, John." At John's look of disbelief, Curly and Nibs exchanged a glance, and Slightly nudged Peter. Shaking his head, the leader of the Lost Boys grinned: "Of course she asked about you – and she practically ordered me to bring you back to Neverland."

Blushing, John sighed, while the other boys slapped him on the back. "Look, she still remembers you!" "Be suave. Girls like that." "Give her a present." "Maybe a little Indian statue, for example," came the ideas from all sides.

John stuck his tongue out. Yes, he liked the Indian girl very much – especially after she had kissed him when he saved her from one of Hook's men – but must everyone tease him so? He met Wendy's gaze, who winked at him. She well understood the butterflies in his stomach. "Listen, boys!" she raised her voice. "Bring only what you need! A change of clothes, small tools, and don't forget your weapons."

The boys finally noticed the bundle she held, and the sword hung at her hips. "Weapons?" Nibs asked perplexed. "Why?"

Peter announced with a gleam in his eye, "Hook is back!"

The boys gasped. "What?" Tootles squeaked, and his friends pressed their index fingers at their lips.

"SHHHHHHH!"

"What?" the boy mouthed at his leader.

Peter nodded, then summarized the story of Hook's escape from the crocodile, how he re-captured his ship and how he hunted Peter the first days after. "He knew where our hideout was after you left, and the whole crew seemed to trample the entire island," he sighed. "Hook is more ruthless and determined than ever. We daren't underestimate him. We crossed paths a couple times in the last weeks, and if not for Tiger-Lily and her warriors, I wouldn't be standing here now. He's afraid of nothing, he's damn quick with his weapons and even better with his hook. If he catches any of us, he'll waste no time gutting us. So," he looked down onto the floor, "if you still want to come along, then--"

"Don't be absurd, Peter," Slightly spoke up, and the other boys nodded firmly. "We beat him one time, so why not a second time?"

"Exactly," Michael commented and rubbed his nose. "I even took some of his treasure from Smee. I'm not afraid of Hook!"

Chuckling, Nibs looked at the little boy standing proudly between the twins, who were no taller than he. "As I remember it, " Twin 2 started, "he had you on his hook, ready to throw you overboard ..."

"…And, by the way," Twin 1 finished, "You can't compare Hook with Smee."

Michael pushed out his lower lip. "But I defeated Smee!" He glanced up at Peter. "Is that geezer still there?" Peter nodded, and Michael's face grew dark. "That old liar! He told me that he never wanted to be a pirate! He was gonna start doing good!"

"And you believed him?" Curly asked, taking a shirt out of the closet.

"What was I supposed to think? That old cheat really looked afraid! He threw his weapons away tossed me the treasure he was carrying. Of course I let him go!"

"Easy, Michael," John interrupted. "Hook talks about good form, but you're the one who shows it!" Proudly the little boy straightened his shoulders.

"So, anyone staying behind?" Slightly asked, taking his place beside Peter, a hand on the other's shoulder. Crystal blue eyes met brown, and they smiled: "Looks like we all return with you to Neverland!" Muffled cheers broke out, and the boys hurried to gather their most necessary belongings.

John, seeing Wendy's bundle, frowned. "What are you taking?"

Wendy lifted surprised a brow. "A light dress, because I don't want to run around in a nightgown all the time, and--"

Peter grinned. "I liked you in your nightgown!" As the words left him, he realized what he'd said, and both of them blushed. They'd never seen this happen before, but ever since the "thimble", well …

Wendy continued: "Furthermore, I have an outfit for swimming in it and--"

"For swimming?" John, Nibs and Curly echoed, and the girl nodded.

"Yes, Mother bought it for me shortly before their trip to Scotland. She wanted to let me have swimming lessons after she and Father return." She lowered her voice. "Please, don't say anything to Aunt Millicent. Mother agreed that playing sports is good for everyone and learning to swim might be useful someday. After all, we are living near the river."

Gaping, the boys stared at her. A girl wanted to learn to swim? Peter frowned, but for another reason entirely. "You don't know how to swim?"

Wendy shook her head, lowering it. "No."

He took her hand. "I'll teach you!" His voice was eager and the girl looked up into his excited eyes. "I'll teach you to fly in the waves, to dive into a whole other world and how to talk with dolphins."

"Dolphins?" Wendy whispered, her head raised now and her eyes beginning to shine like two sapphires.

It was at that moment that Tink flew through the small opening at the door and the boys greeted her joyfully, and she smiled in return. Then she jingled something to Peter and the boy's eyes widened. "Someone's coming. Hurry now!" he whispered urgently and the boys obeyed without a second thought.

Seconds later, they finished tying up what they needed and stood at the open window, ready to fly away. From the floor below, they could hear a deep barking. Nana had awakened. Peter flung a look at Tinker Bell. "Quick, Tink, your fairy-dust!" then ran to the window and shoved it open. It was still drizzling, but the thunderstorm had moved on toward the Kiel Canal. Far away bolts lit up the clouds, and here and there a low rumble was heard. Good! In the meantime, the fairy whirled around the children, sharing her golden bounty with them.

Holding their breaths the boys waited, eager to feel the sensation of flying again. Softly, gently, the magical gold dusting purled down on them, and no one needed to work up a happy thought. Their return to the island of adventure and fun was enough to lift them into the air. Michael, John and Curley exchanged a excited glance, as their feet left the ground – shortly followed by Tootles, Nibs and Slightly. The twins giggled and bumped against the ceiling, grinning identically. Yes, even in the warm fold of the Darling household, they had missed this special kind of freedom.

"Hurry now or they'll catch us!" Peter ordered, and one by one they shot out the window. Outside and above the street, the children took each other's hands and let the wind do its work. Almost tenderly it encircled them, drawing them toward the skies. Peter and Wendy stayed behind in the house at 14 Bloomsbury Street.

John, who was the last of the boys in the nursery, looked around. The floor lay in shadows about him, already beginning to seem strange to him, like a house you left behind after a very long trip abroad. This was another part of the Neverland's riddle. Once you've fallen under the spell of the magic of that island, everything familiar to you becomes decidedly unfamiliar. After you decide to return to Neverland and already wear the fairy-dust, Neverland's magic is already blooming inside you, making you remember … making you forget.

"Don't worry," the eldest Darling-son murmured to his absent parents. "Peter will take good care of us!" Then he followed the boys out the window, his ordinary life already fading in his mind.

Peter nodded, smiling. They were coming, and he'd never be alone again. He turned to Wendy, "Everything alright?"

The girl nodded and stepped to his side, her bright eyes shining. "Thank you so much, Peter." Nana's barking grew louder and both children's faces turned toward the door. Like a flash, Peter grasped Tinker Bell and shook her above his hand, catching her fairy-dust. She shot him a dark glare – she hated it when he did that! – and said something unsociable to him, which he ignored. "Fly after the boys, and dust them again in case the rain should wash it off!" She made a rude noise and pointed at Wendy, grumbling something in her fairy-language to herself. Peter sighed. "Don't be so jealous!" Tink stuck her tongue out to him and flew away. Peter didn't even bother to watch her go, his gaze fixed on his friend.

"Ready?" the he asked, and the girl gave him a sweet smile. "Yes. Thank you for returning." Growing once again uncertain under her gentle gaze, he blew the fairy-dust from his hand at Wendy, just like he did the first time.

Wendy sighed happily as she felt herself grow weightless, and took his hand. "This time, I will be not so foolish," she whispered and Peter smirked with a hint of arrogance.

"I know."

The Darling-daughter could feel all her worries and sorrows falling away from her and her heart grew so light and full she thought she would burst with joy. She saw that she already soared to the ceiling when the door was torn open and the hall light poured into the room. With a mighty leap Nana was inside the nursery, still barking loudly, quite angry with them for ignoring her. She collected herself and jumped – despite her size – trying to reach the intruder. But Peter was well above her, but pulled up his legs, startled. His eyes grew wide as her large jaws snapped beneath him, reminding him how Hook must have been felt, suspended over the crocodile.

Then his confidence returned. "Sit, you silly dog!" he snarled and imitated Nana's growling, which only infuriated her further. Yes, it was a child above her, but a child who needed a stern hand – or paw.

Wendy was stunned by surprise. Never before she had seen the dog that upset, and she loosened her grip on Peter's hand. "Nana, hush! Peter is a friend."

Friend? Nana only barked louder. Oh, she knew about this 'friend'. Some time ago she had caught the boy's shadow, and hoped to have driven him away. Besides, he smelled like he needed a bath. But the boy had returned and not only retrieved his shadow, but had taken her charges as well! She would never allow this to happen again – even when she looked around to see that all of the other children were already gone.

"Nana! Sit! Be quiet!" Aunt Millicent's voice was firm, and the dog obeyed, but continued to growl most threateningly. Millicent Darling, clad in a long robe and with a night-cap on her head, looked around the deserted room, then followed Nana's gaze upward. What she saw nearly froze her blood. Just overhead was her niece, hovering at the ceiling as if were the most commonplace thing for her to do. At her side flew a strange boy, about her age, holding her hand.

His appearance was difficult to describe. The garment of leaves didn't deserve the name of 'clothes', he looked as filthy as a guttersnipe, and his sandy locks must have never seen a brush. The look on his face was so angry that she retreated a step. "Dear Lord! Who are you?" the master's sister gasped.

The boy stuck his fist to his waist. "Peter Pan!" he said shortly, assessing her thoroughly with his crystal clear eyes. "And you will not Wendy lock away in a boarding-school, Lady!" he snapped.

Aunt Millicent pressed her hand at her chest to catch her breath – here was the mysterious boy in the flesh! Robert (Slightly) had told her so much about this boy, and how he could fly, but she didn't really believe it until now. This wild boy could fly, as well the rest of the children in the house! Her nervous glance met the girl's animated one "Please, Wendy," she begged. "Please come down! I promise our little quarrel will remain ours, neither your father nor I will send you to a boarding-school!"

The girl felt her friend's eyes on her, and slowly shook her head. "I know about promises," she answered. "The last time I believed a grown-up, we were all kidnapped and commanded to walk the plank."

Her aunt was cut to the quick. "Child, would you really compare me to that-- that pirate?"

Wendy shook her head. "No, for he wears no mask."

"What do you mean 'wears'. You said he was dead!" Millicent demanded.

"We thought so, but I've just learned that he survived," Wendy answered.

For a second, the woman seemed close to fainting. If everything the children had told about this strange island was true (and it seemed it might be, given the new evidence before her), then this fiend Hook was a deadly and very real threat, and she feared for their lives. "Please, Wendy," she pled, "please, I beg you, stay here. Your mother and father will be beside themselves and--"

"Tell them we are with Peter. Mother will understand." Her eyes found her friend's gaze, seeing his expression relaxed and confident again. "No one can protect me better than he can." Peter smiled softly and the older Miss Darling truly saw the boy for the first time, his handsome features, the irresistible smirk and the glance he gave her niece. She knew then that she had lost this argument. No power on earth could restrain such a young, rebellious girl like Wendy from following such a winning boy who would offer her the life she so longed for – even if it wouldn't last forever.

"Please, be careful, Wendy," she whispered. "If this man really is still alive, you will all be in terrible danger."

"Peter will look after us," Wendy told her again calmly, and Millicent saw the boy tighten his grip on Wendy's hand.

And for that moment, she felt that he might be able to keep his friends safe. Taking a deep breath, Miss Darling glanced into the eyes of the boy, who looked back at her with clear distaste. Nevertheless she addressed him for the first time. "I know that you're not fond of grown-ups, but I must ask something from you." Peter didn't answer, but cocked his head – and Millicent thought she could see a glimpse of the freedom and carelessness surrounding the boy; and it touched her like a cool fragrant wind on a hot summer day. For long moment, her breath caught in her throat; something sang in her; something she thought she had lost with her childhood.

Biting his lips, the eternal boy watched Millicent carefully. He saw her heartache, and for a moment he softened toward her. "Don't worry! Of course I'll protect my friends – and I'll do it without making them cry!" he added shortly. Thunder rolled again over the skies and the two friends started. "It's coming back!" Peter whispered to Wendy. "Hurry!"

He moved toward the window and flew out into the night, happy to finally escape the confines of a closed room. For the last time, Wendy looked at her aunt. "We'll come back, but not so quickly as last time."

"Child, we can discuss everything," Millicent tried anew, but her niece gently shook her head. "No. I thought I was ready to grow up, but I was wrong – or perhaps you and father have made it too difficult. I must return to Neverland! Peter needs me." She lowered her head. "And I need him!" She turned away and departed through the window, meeting an impatient Peter Pan outside.

"Wendy!" Aunt Millicent called, panicking now, and running toward the window, Nana at her side, barking again. She saw how the wild, pretty boy took Wendy's hand, and then the two of them flew off into the stormy night. Moments later, the darkness disguised them completely.

------------------------

The rooftops of London lay beneath them. The streets were empty and deserted, only here and there a cat or a stray dog wandered through the sleeping town, unaware of the strange shapes in the sky.

The wind gusted the few fallen leaves in Kensington Gardens through the air, and Tink used one of them to surf on the gust as they passed the great park. Peter and Tink shared memory of long time ago, for everything started here when his magical friend had found him and took him back with her to Neverland. He was hardly more than an baby at that time, but that dazzling moment in Kensington Gardens still lived in his heart.

Wendy flew beside Peter and looked around with shining eyes. The sensation of freedom from the earth's gravity made her feel like a feather again. She felt like laughing and crying in one. She still held on to Peter's hand for guidance and security. As long as he was with her, no harm could come to her. The boy grinned at her and looked back at his friends, following in a straight line. First John and Slightly, then Nibs and Curly, then Tootles and Michael and last the twins. A joy so big filled his body so that he had to let it out in a long peal of laughter, soaring higher. They crossed a great bridge and headed toward a mighty tower, where the giant clock seen all over the city began to chime the hour. Peter remembered the sound. Looking down onto the mighty pinnacles behind the tower he accelerated into the skies. He felt triumphant as the lights of London fell further behind. There, between the stars, lay his home, and he felt it drawing him in every part of his body.

Flinging his arms out, he crowed cheerfully. They reached the clouds and dashed at them, cool and damp. The rumble of the advancing storm grew louder, and now and again a light bolted through the clouds. "Take one last deep breath and hold it!" Peter called, tensing up. A flight through clouds, heavy with storm, was far more strenuous than soaring through the white soft cotton wool that decorated Neverland's skies. Peter eyed the dark angry mountain in front of him and turned toward Wendy. "Hold on tight!"

He didn't have to tell her twice. With a queasy feeling, Wendy gripped Peter's arm with one hand and wrapped the other around his waist while the bundle dangled before them now. For a second the boy was taken aback, but then he decided that he didn't mind a bit.

Instinctively, the girl stretched one foot toward her brother. "John, hold tight!" she called, and he was vividly reminded of their first dizzying trip to the second star to the right. Grinning, he clasped the ankle of his sister, hugged his own bundle tighter, and offered Slightly one of his feet. Seconds later, the children formed a sort of elephant-row, so that none of them would be lost.

It was just in time. Diving into the cloud they couldn't see a hand (or foot) before their faces. It was as though they dove into water, only getting wet slowly. Dampness beaded in their hair and clung to their bodies, cold and gloomy, and then, suddenly, they saw a bright light shooting through the darkness, parting the clouds, while thunder exploded around them. Wendy screamed and pressed closer to Peter, also startled. That was too close! "Don't let go!" he called, and rose faster. He felt Wendy pressing herself to him, while Tink, who was holding on to his weapon-sash, searched for a way under it, for she would never be able to keep up with them in this weather.

Michael, Tootles and the Twins, who were at the back, each clung to the person in front and closed their eyes. Again they heard thunder, and gasping, seemed to breath in water. They spat it out, and prayed that this trip through hell would soon end.

Peter broke through the clouds into the soft velvet darkness above him, interlaced with millions of twinkling stars. His eyes darted about searching out a particular one, above the clouds (now silver under the starlight) and toward the west. And there it was! Second star to the right, refulgent and incandescent, easy to see in the darkest night for anyone who would let it guide them home. Peter sighed, joy again bubbling up inside of him. There it was, his home, Neverland!

He led them again through the indescribable frontier. Suddenly the world from which they came was no more than a big blue and white ball – almost like a giant marble – and around him were more of these, but in different colors and sizes. But they did not interest him. Rather he hunted for the golden sea made of stardust, for behind it Neverland's magical sea began.

Wendy loosened her grasp around Peter and now flew beside him, only their fingers entwined. Her first flight to Neverland was a shadow in her memory. At that time, she had been nervous about losing sight of Peter during the trip, but now the situation was different. Now she knew her way to Neverland and what was about to happen, so she could enjoy it. Thunder? Lighting? No matter, nor the grave thoughts and fears of the last few weeks with Aunt Millicent. And as she left her world behind, she sensed again the weightlessness and the magic of the star-kingdom. Around her was nothing more than warm darkness and an odd stroking at her mind. She could feel herself relaxing, while she laid her head back and shouted with happiness, freedom, redemption – a sound the uninitiated might call crowing. Peter grinned and joined her. The crowing of the two children seemed to echo between the stars, while the other boys joined them in their declaration of joy. They were going back to Neverland!

--------------------------------

The garbage pail from the kitchen emptied into the morning sea, and several fish appeared to breakfast among the tidbits. "Disgusting!" snorted the younger man with the shaved head, pushing his tri-cornered hat back on his head. He positioned his dark spectacles back on his nose and looked up into the cloudy sky. It was cold in Neverland – certain proof that the little pest was away – but it wasn't cold enough yet to freeze the sea and encase the ship in ice.

Even so, it was uncomfortable, not like a tropical island at all. "Bad news!" croaked something above him and his pale eyes looked up to the ugly parrot in the rigging. "Shut up, you sorry excuse for a bird!" Albino, the third gunman of the Jolly Roger, snarled, but it ignored him. It was accustomed to the shouting, hearing it a dozen times every day. Albino turned away toward the companionway to return to the galley. With each passing day, he grew more and more irritated by his this duty as cook's assistant – and he desperately wanted to speak with his captain about it. But with the mood Hook was in, it would have been suicide. And the fault of all was that damn little monster Peter Pan. If Hook finally caught him, then everything would be different. But until then-- Albino pressed his lips together, cursing the boy once again.

Then he heard the distant sound of cheering voices, and instinctively the gunman dashed to the other side of the ship and pulled his spectacles away. This was a mistake, because at that moment, the cloud cover broke and bright sunshine chased the shadows away. Snarling another curse, Albino replaced his dark spectacles – the only protection for his sensitive eyes – and looked again toward the skies. There, far above the sea, he saw several shapes soaring through the clouds toward the island. He didn't need a spyglass to recognize that one of them must be the Pan. It was only when the brat was around that the island was a blooming paradise. Without him, the land was shrouded in darkness and cold. And regarding the sudden blaze of flowers on the island, the only explanation could be Pan's return. "And right now, t'e cap'n ain't 'ere!" he grumbled and sighed. "Maybe he's right to wait ashore for t'e boy's return."

Straightening his aching shoulders, he headed back toward the galley –more frustrated than before.

-------------------------------------

Wendy had thought that nothing could make her joy more full, but she was wrong. As they passed the magical portal made of stardust, falling toward the dark, crystal sea, she held her breath. And now, finally, the darkness gave way, and Neverland lay in shimmering gold before them. She thought her heart would burst.

Everything was exactly as she remembered it. Cliffs surrounded the island, rising out of the clear warm waves. In the center of the island lived a high volcano, which glowed red in the morning sun. To the west and north were the mighty, snow covered mountains which seemed to thrust upward, reaching for the sky. On the western side, they ended in high cliffs, creating two bays, and in one a mighty ship with four masts lay at anchor: the _Jolly Roger_. Because of its presence, the bay bore the name of Pirate's Cove. No inhabitant of Neverland in his right mind came near this place – except Peter Pan, who loved to play pranks on its occupants.

The other bay was called Mermaid's Lagoon – a place no human wanted to enter, because the sea-creatures were as dangerous as they were beautiful. Again, only Peter could come to this place unharmed, because the creatures liked him very much. Yes, they even spied for him, if he needed news of what was happening upon the Jolly Roger or around the island.

Toward the south, the mountains changed into foothills, growing deep forests and jungles, and – the farther south you went – marshes and lagoons, until finally, at the southern tip, a long, white beach. In the west, the mighty towers of a castle-ruin stood against the sea: the Black Castle, Captain Hook's residence, when he didn't want to stay aboard his ship. Further south, the small smoke of many tepees rose up, the village of Indians who lived near the beach. They were not only hunters, but gatherers and fishermen as well.

The beach itself was a dream come true. It stretched for miles by the sea, white and inviting. High palms grew nearby and sent their shadows on the sand – a protection against the warm sunshine. Behind them, pines whispered in the wind and mingled with the first oaks of the forests, then mixed with the plants of the jungle. Between them and the Fire-Mountains (as they were called) were high plateaus and rivers, with fields covered with aromatic plants, extraordinary animals, and oddly-shaped rocks. Deep blue lakes shimmered in the morning sun and the croaking of seagulls pierced the clear air.

Peter smiled as he neared land. He was home! His eyes searched out Wendy's, and he was surprised when he saw tears glistening there. "What?" he asked, afraid that she was sorry she ever came to Neverland.

The girl blinked several times before answering, "I am just so happy to be here again!"

Peter looked confused. "But I thought you could only cry when you're sad."

Wendy sniffed and shook her head. "No. You can cry because of too much joy. Mother told me once that tears are the valve of the soul. And it doesn't matter if you are sad or full of joy. If it's too great, tears have to come."

Peter thought about it. He didn't understand what Wendy meant, but something occurred to him, and his expression turned into a smirk. "Then I'll have to ask Hook the next time if he's ever so glad to see me. Because, last time, he had tears in his eyes! I thought it was fury, but maybe I was wrong."

Wendy stared at him – and started to laugh. "Poor Hook!" she giggled and Peter laughed, too.

"Yes, sometimes I pity him – when I get the time."

"I know, you haven't any time because you're too busy looking for your next adventure!"

The boy shrugged casually. "It can be a trial sometimes." Wendy burst out laughing. Peter pointed downward. "We have to go there. I built a new hideout not far from the old one."

Nibs, Slightly and John approached. "Isn't it dangerous to have it near our old hideout?"

Peter shook his head. "No. It is so obvious that Hook'll never see it. He'd never think that I'd choose someplace so plain. He searches for something more hidden, you know, concealed. He's already been by it more than a dozen times, and hasn't a clue how near he was."

Nibs was curious. "Where?"

Peter grinned arrogantly, very conscious of Wendy's admiring gaze. "It's--"

He never finished the sentence, because he nearly collided with a seagull, and he just managed to avoid it. "Hey, watch where you're going!" he called, and the next moment the children found themselves surrounded by grey wings and yellow bills. The gulls and the children all tried to avoid each other, and for a few seconds it was very confused. Finally, one bird remained fluttering around Peter and croaked at him angrily. The boy frowned. "You think you own the sky? You must have seen us coming!"

The seagull shrieked something, and Tinker Bell made a face, then quickly translated it. She, of course, understood the language of the animals. Peter gaped at the seagull. "What do you mean by 'giant bald bird'? Of course I can use the sky – whoever can fly can use the sky! That's that!"

The bird croaked something else and flew away. "What'd she say?" Peter asked, but Tink refused to answer. Even she never used language like that! Peter turned around and looked after his friends.

Behind him, chaos was still in progress. The children had tried to protect themselves against the flock – the birds didn't want to hurt them, they were simply in their way – and had to find a way out of it. As one seagull collided with Curly, Peter was at his side just in time to prevent him from falling, hissing, "Let him alone!" at the bird.

"Let go!"

Wendy.

He looked around for the girl, who was fighting for her bundle, in which another seagull had placed a claw. In the wink of an eye, Peter was at her side and gripped the startled bird at the throat. "Hurt her and I'll pluck every feather out of you!" he snarled, and the gull released the bundle with a squeak. Regrettably, Wendy did the same and watched it fall toward the island. "My clothes!" she called and tried to follow it, but Peter held her back.

"Don't! We'll find them!"

Meanwhile, the ornery flock had flown out of the chaos and away. Peter gave the bird he was still holding a shake. "And watch where you're flying the next time!" then tossed it after its fellows. The bird soared above him with a furious squawk, and lifted its tail. The boy made an instinctive move sideways, pulling Wendy with him, and the well-aimed projectile missed them.

"That really is--" Peter began.

"Stupid bird!" John cried, putting his spectacles back on his nose and turned toward the Twins. "Everyone all right?"

The two little boys nodded, as did Michael.

"They were really in a hurry!" Nibs grumbled.

"Seagulls!" Slightly scolded. "Not only arrogant, but crazy and very rude!"

"What do you expect from pea-sized brain in a feather-covered head?" Curly grinned and the boys started to laugh.

"Anyone hurt?" Peter asked, and as all his friends shook their head, he smiled relieved. A collision with a flock of gulls had its risks, there was no doubt. "All right. Then let's go down there!" He pointed beneath him at the south end of the island. "I saw where Wendy's bundle fell. We'll have to find it quickly, and then on home!"

But this was easier said than done. The bundle had fallen somewhere between the steep coast, the marshes, and the beach. As the children landed, they were surrounded by mangroves and climbers. The snow had melted completely – excepted the tops of the mountains, which were always snow-covered – and the late morning sun tried its best to warm up the air in record time. There, at the edge of the marsh, the warmth was mingled with humid air. It wasn't long before the children were covered in sweat. John stretched and looked around him. "Why is it the first place I see in Neverland is the swamp?"

Curly laughed at him. "Perhaps so you can take a bath?"

"A bath? In this water?" Making a face, he indicated the green-brown liquid.

Curly shrugged. "It matches your hair."

"Ha-ha!" The elder Darling boy grimaced and asked Peter, "Are you sure that her bundle fell here, Peter?"

He nodded. "Aye. It must be somewhere in this area. We should split up and search in the different areas."

"I hope it didn't fall into the water," Wendy murmured and glanced warily at the still surface.

Peter smiled encouragingly at her. "If it did, we'll get some material from the _Jolly Roger_ and you can sew a new nightgown."

This prospect pleased Wendy even less, and she made a face and sighed quietly. "I'd rather ask Tiger-Lily for a leather dress." She met Peter's gaze as he stuck his fists on his hips and cocked his head, a smirk on his handsome features. "What?" she asked.

Peter grinned broadly. "I'm just imagining you in an Indian dress. It would suit you." As soon as he said it, he watched Wendy's face turning pink – and for no reason he understood, heat rushed into his cheeks as well. Clearing his throat he turned toward his friends, clearly embarrassed. "So, divide up!" he ordered firmly, preventing any grins or disrespect. By the wings of all the fairies, after all, he was their leader! Licking his suddenly dry lips, he continued: "The predators aren't out this time of day, and the croc is dead. But remember, the marshes aren't without their own danger. So don't go alone. Michael with Nibs, Twin One with Curly, Twin Two with Slightly, Tootles with John and Wendy with me. We'll stay where we can hear each other, and if you find something, shout it out. Any questions? No? Good. Get going."

They searched for almost an hour, with no results. Finally, Peter extended the search radius and went with Wendy closer to the sea. Here, out of the marshes, the air was much clearer and the girl breathed deeply in relief. She could hear the waves rolling onto the beach, and from far away, the cries of seagulls sounded from the down the beach. A soft wind played between the pines.

Peter was watching Wendy when she suddenly stopped and looked into the direction of the sea, which she hadn't seen until now. He recognized that expression, and knew what she longed for. "What do you want? A visit to the beach?" He really didn't need to ask. The look she gave him made his heart beat faster, and as she nodded eagerly, he took her hand and flew with her over the ground, toward the sea.

As they reached the edge of the palms and pines, the boy landed, Wendy beside him. "Close your eyes," he whispered near her ear, and with a trusting smile she did as he asked. Without any hesitation she followed him, her hand in his. Not seeing, she sensed far more. Her bare feet touched warm, soft sand and the wind grew stronger. It smelled of salt and the pines, mingled with the heavy sweet scent of Neverland's flowers and the aromatic scent of pepper. Pepper-trees were everywhere in the southern area of the island, and they gave the air a fresh touch. The rush of the waves grew louder and the sun seemed much stronger than before.

"Okay, open your eyes now!" Peter's voice betrayed his excitement, and Wendy happily obeyed.

What she saw took her breath away. The high cliffs above the sea showed a daring play of colors, from rust-red over ocher-yellow, to silver-grey. They were precipitous and, where the water broke at the base, it sculpted incredible shapes – bridges and caves, faces and gestures. It was as if a giant had played there. Near the beach, the water was turquoise, changing to pale blue light, and finally into a dark blue out on the open sea. The sun glistened on the waves and somewhere close by, Wendy thought she saw the slender bodies of dolphins flying out of the water and returning with graceful splashes.

Her heart skipped a beat. Soon, she would be able to swim with them.

"Do you like it?" Her friend's voice was directly behind her, his breath on her cheek.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and poured everything she felt into her answer: "I love it. Thank you, Peter. You don't know how much I've missed this." With amusement, she saw him lowering his gaze, almost shyly. It was so odd for the eternal boy to be at a loss for words, or to be shy, but somehow – somehow! -- she had managed to do this to him again.

Peter finally lifted his eyes, feeling an odd knot in his stomach as he watched Wendy before him. The wind played with her long hair, where sunbeams conjured a touch of gold. Her large eyes shimmered with joy, and the pallor of the northern city seemed to leave her face with every passing second, allowing it to radiate with an inner glory that seemed to touch his very being.

He would rather die than admit it, but he wanted to look at her forever.

Before he blushed again and made a completely fool out of himself, he cleared his throat and pointed backward to the pines. "If you like, I'll keep searching over there, and you can stay here for a while."

Her eyes glowed even more and she beamed at him gratefully. "Thank you again, dear Sir."

Peter grinned and bowed. "Whatever my lady wishes." With that, he flew back to his search for the missing bundle. He knew that Wendy would be safe at the beach, and for just a moment, he thought he could understand her pleasure at rediscovering her freedom.

Wendy looked after her friend and then turned back toward the sea. The view was incredible. Nothing is more overwhelming to the senses than the ocean. She licked her lips and tasted salt again. She loved the sea. During the last holiday with her family, they took a trip to the south of England, but the only thing that she had been allowed to do was walk through the water with bare feet. All other times, she had to sit gracefully beside her mother on a blanket, protected by a parasol and a wide-brimmed straw hat, wearing a tight summer-dress. Here, in Neverland, nothing like that was necessary – or even wanted. Here she could be free.

Determinedly, she shortened the skirt of her nightgown, pinned one side in the belt with the sword she still wore, stroked her hair behind her ears and ran down the beach toward the water, holding back a shout. The missing bundle could wait! She had to feel the warm waves of Neverland's sea.

It really was as warm as she remembered. It played around her feet and calves, splashing up her legs, only to retreat, then return moments later – like a little puppy that wanted to play. Wendy spread her arms, laid her head back, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was back – finally! No homilies about virtuous behaviors, no small talk, no instructions about how to move and to talk like a proper lady, no confining dresses, and no debates about how she must style her hair! And for that she had given up on her own free will? She must have been a fool!

The fresh wind played with her long walnut-brown strands, and stroked the bare skin of her arms and legs. The soft rhythm of the waves seemed to find an echo in her heartbeat and she heard from above the renewed screeching of seagulls.

She lowered her arms and glanced out at the open sea. Again she saw the dolphins dancing on and between the waves and she yearned to swim with them.

Lost in the view of the carousing animals, she didn't notice the long shadows approaching her and the quiet steps behind her. It was the rasp of a voice behind her that told her she wasn't alone anymore on the beach.

"Lookin' fer somet'in' special, missy?"

TBC…


	4. Meetin Hook Again

**Chapter 3 - Meeting Hook Again **

"Lookin' fer somet'in', missy?"

Wendy whirled around and looked directly into a black, grinning face, framed with wild raster-braids, and a second chubby one littered with warts. She knew these men. She knew them very well. "Cecco, Mason!" she gasped, heart pounding.

Alf Mason, one of the leading gunmen of the _Jolly Roger_, mockingly doffed his hat. "Aye, now! T'e li'l miss 'asn't forgotten us!"

" 'Tis almost touchin'!" the other added and grinned nastily at her; his white teeth a sharp contrast to his chocolate skin, sun glinting from the thick gold-chains about his neck. The wind billowed his torn shirt and the wide, bleached breeches, he wore.

"Wot we got 'ere?" another voice sounded and a slender figure with olive-brown skin and a turban walked around his comrades. "Our pretty storyteller!"

With rising alarm, Wendy looked around her and recognized several more crewmembers of the pirate ship, and she realized that she was surrounded. There was Quang Lee, the Asian who could handle a sword better than she could a needle; Robert Mullins, ship's carpenter; Skylight, a tall buccaneer with nearly white hair; the grinning Bollard, and finally two other men, whose names she didn't know.

Suddenly another man captured Wendy's attention, a man in striped harem pants, a dark blue jacket, a red-mixed-color sash, with many crucifixes around his neck. Beneath a black hat, two pale-blue protruding eyes looked her over with open hatred, his narrow lips distorted into an evil grimace vaguely resembling a smile. Here was someone Wendy _really_ didn't want to meet again: Cookson, the ship's cook - the very same buccaneer she defeated in the Black Castle months ago, to whom she'd given the scar displayed on his left cheek and nose. "T'ere's a bill to pay, girly!" he growled and touched his scar. Wendy paled.

"Yer brot'er almost broke m' nose!" Cecco added and cocked his head. "T'at wasn't very nice. Ever heard of a vendetta?"

"Yeah!" Mullins grinned. "As t'e mother of t'ose rascals, ye should be ready to take responsibilities and to offer yer own head fer 'em."

"Be it everso pretty!" the Oriental sneered.

"Yeah," Bollard grinned. "Look at her. T'e chick is losin' her down fluff and growin' s'm gaudy feat'ers."

"Honey, coupla years more and y'd be t'e right one for me!" Skylight laughed.

The carpenter started to grin, as Wendy blushed angrily. "Lads, behave yerselves. After all, we're dealing wit' a lady here," he scoffed.

"Garn," the Asian smirked and looked her over. "I ain't never met a real lady wearin' a nightgown all tied up." Roaring laughter echoed over the beach and Wendy prayed that Peter would hear it. But she didn't dare to call for him, fearing he might be entrapped and would, at last, falling into Hook's hand.

"Do ye've not'in' else to wear, sweetheart?" Mullins mocked.

Wendy balled her hands into fists. "Unlike any of you, gentlemen, my clothes are clean. But I don't live on a filthy ship held together by termites!"

Again the buccaneers started to laugh, as if she had made a very good joke. "My clothes are clean, lass, do ye want to see?" Mason asked and turned her around, ready to embrace her.

Wendy slapped him hard. "Get away from me!" she hissed, anger winning over fear.

"Look! She wants to cuddle wit' us!" Skylight chuckled.

"But don't whine about bruises afterward, li'l one!" Bollard grinned.

"Don't be too hard on t'e lass!" the Oriental smiled. " 'Twould be a shame wiv 'er pretty face!"

"Pretty or not, she'll pay fer me scar!" Cookson snarled and stepped forward. "Y' made a mistake returning to Neverland, bitch! Y' wouldn't believe 'ow much I wanted a chance to teach y' some manners, girly!"

As she again heard the name she loathed the most, her fright was banished. Following the example of all the heroes in her stories, her sword was suddenly in her hand, pointing threateningly in Cookson's surprised face. "Who are you to call me 'girly', Sir! I thought I taught you your lesson the last time. Must I do it again!"

The buccaneers cheered with glee when they saw the bravery of the girl. "Can ye believe it? Sittin' in a trap and still talking big!" Mason chuckled. "Oh well, dere's lasses ye've to admire: pretty and fiery! Somet'ing to tame!"

Skylight agreed. Cookson shook his head, lip twisting into a sneer. "Ain't wort' yer while t' tame that 'un." The wind again swelled in his trouser and jacket. "Ye owe me, ye li'l hussy!" he growled.

Gathering up her courage, Wendy's eyes darted about, and she saw only gloating, grudge and strange anticipation. Gracious, if she didn't get out of here soon, she would be in deep trouble. Who was she trying to fool? She already was in big trouble!

Fly! That was the solution. One happy thought and she would be on her way back to Peter – if she only could concentrate on a happy thought!

"Leave somet'ing fer us, Cookson!" Mason laughed. "Albino has also a bone to pick wit' her, and if ye disappoint 'im, ye'll lose an assistant in yer galley!"

"He'll t'ink twice about it, as soon as t'e cap'n give him a word or two!" Cookson retorted without taking his eyes from Wendy.

The girl knew now that her only chance was to fight, and her anger returned. "How would it be if I gave you a word or two?" she hissed.

Cookson grinned and exposed his sparse teeth. "Ye really want a fight, girly? Put up yer sword and I promise I'll be quick and painless. Almost!" he added with a sneer.

"I've told you before: don't call me GIRLY!" She didn't know where she got the courage to threaten a half dozen buccaneers, but, on the other hand, she hadn't any other choice.

Her words provoked another fit of laughter from the pirates. "Hey, Cookson, y' don't want a girl t' get t'e better of ya, now, do ya?"

"It wouldn't be t'e first time!"

The ship's cook shook with wrath and gripped his sword with both hands. "I'll shred you into pieces, ya bitch!"

Wendy parried the first stroke with easy skill and moved to attack. Never she would surrender to this pathetic bunch of pirates! She managed it to force him back several steps, and his comrades rooted for him as well as for her. Then the ship's cook plunged into the fight. This time both his feet worked, and he had a better sense of the girl's fighting-mood. With mighty strokes, he tried to break down her defense, but in his anger he was careless – which gave Wendy her only opportunity. She made a sally forward, sweeping downward, and her sword plunged into his wide harem pants, resulting in a long tear.

"Hey! I still need t'ese damn t'ings!" he bellowed, outraged, and kicked at her leg, causing her to fall. She tried to roll away, but Cookson tromped on her nightgown and pinned her down on the sand. Smirking his arm arched a mighty stroke which might have cleaved her in two. Desperately she lashed at his foot with her blade, and the pirate leapt back before his blade connected. "Damn witch!" he snarled and pursued her, but Wendy was on her feet again, lifting her sword to parry. The other buccaneers made room for her and her opponent, as the blades clanged together.

Suddenly, a dark voice interrupted the cheering of the pirates – hard and demanding. "May I ask the reason for this turmoil, gentlemen? As far as I remember, I gave the order to search for Pan!" Wendy would have recognized this dark sonorous voice among thousands, and she felt herself grow cold. These hoodlums had provoked her, she admitted to herself, but they were nothing compared to this man who now approached.

"Cap'n! Look wot we found!" Mason called and the buccaneers backed away, allowing Hook his first view of their captive. Wendy only had eyes for James Hook, who halted when he recognized her.

He hadn't changed a bit. His aristocratic face with high cheekbones was framed with a dark, curly mane, nearly black His sensual, expressive mouth was adorned with a neatly trimmed goatee. He wore the finest clothes: a black and wine-red captain's coat made of heavy velvet, decorated with golden embroidery, very like the one he had worn that evening a half year ago. Beneath it he had a fitted waist-coat and black breeches with tall boots. A black ruffed shirt and an elegant hat with a large feather completed the outrageous – but oh so appropriate – ensemble. He wore a pearl-handled pistol looking out from the weapons-sash under the open waist-coat, in addition to his mighty sword (the badge of his captain's rank); and the polished silver hook that replaced his right hand. If you merely took in his appearance, you would say that he was a handsome man in his mid- or late thirties, but if you looked closer, you would sense the presence of danger – like a tiger you admire for its grace and strength, one you would prefer to watch from a safe distance.

Wendy was no exception – especially now. She'd been fascinated by the man ever since she heard of him. But what captured her attention when she saw him that first time, outside the Black Castle, were his eyes. They were the clearest forget-me-not-blue she had ever seen -- and turned red when he killed. They had charmed her from the very first, and as he stood only yards away, regarding her with those piercing eyes, she could feel the attraction returning – in spite of what he had done --and would do -- to her!

He was accompanied by his confidante and bo'sun, Mr. Smee, an older Irishman as loyal as a retriever. He wore an old red-white shirt, brown trousers, stockings and old shoes and carried a jacket over his arm that was some indefinable shade of green or brown or grey -- you really couldn't tell.

Hook could only stare at the child his men had caught, and for a long moment stood completely mesmerized. Then he took a deep breath. "Wendy Darling!" he murmured and let his gaze examine the small slender figure standing before him in the sand. She hadn't grown much. Perhaps an inch or two, but her sweet face had lost some of its immaturity, and her body had stretched a little bit. The shortened nightgown exposed her calves, exposing the first lean curves, and beneath the thin cotton he thought he could see the budding breasts – certain proof of her growing up. The long, walnut-brown hair blew in the soft wind like silk, and her big blue-grey eyes were shaded by dark, long lashes. The girl was more than pretty. A ravishing beauty, he admitted to himself, and had a pouting red mouth, which should not have been on one so young. But, of course, Hook remembered very well how she had used her female charm to trick him. Yes, she had practically wrapped him around her little finger as she had begged him, softly and tearfully, to give the sentenced Peter Pan her 'precious thimble'. Thimble, hah! It turned out to be a real kiss, a most powerful thing indeed, and it gave the boy all his strength back. And now this creature had the nerve to return to Neverland as if nothing had ever happened! There she stood, between his men, fighting with that ratty old sword she'd stolen from his ship. This was impertinent! Inconceivable! All these thoughts and more chased themselves around behind his eyes, and Wendy saw them all.

Slowly Hook approached her, and Wendy felt like a trapped rabbit eyeing a panther. Only two paces away from her he stopped and looked at her with glittering eyes. "I never thought you would dare come back here again," he purred. "Hasn't our dear Peter informed you that I survived the little chorus you and your friends performed?"

His voice was calm, but Wendy wasn't fooled. She knew that he was more dangerous when he controlled it, that behind those still blue eyes the machinery was turning. She thought she could feel his resentment radiating toward her, and she remembered Peter's warning from last night, when he told her that Hook's wrath was now directed at her as well. As she watched him standing there, completely in control and resting in his own competence, she realized that her friend had been right.

Hook _was_ more dangerous than before.

Swallowing the growing lump in her throat, she straightened her shoulders and greeted him politely: "Captain!" She didn't know what else to do. If he decided to end her life, no power in Neverland would save her.

Hook lifted an elegant brow, as though intrigued by her response. He had awaited her terror, but the only sign of fear he could identify were her white cheeks. Deciding to ignore this pretense, he simply continued: "On the other hand, I think it is a twist of fate that you're here now. I don't have to find my way to London to get my … revenge."

Wendy's heart skipped, and, for a moment, she was tempted to beg, or run, or do something else very stupid, but her pride would not allow it. She also knew it would not be wise to show any weakness, that he loathed cowardice. So she answered with forced tranquility: "We both know that you can't leave Neverland. So you might call it good fortune to meet me here again."

For a second the buccaneer said nothing, then he cocked his head. "Still so collected, my beauty? Is it born out of bravery, or ignorance of the situation you are in?"

She didn't lower her gaze – which woke some small respect in him. He had met men who, screaming, had turned to run when they were in her position. But there she stood, just a slip of a girl, with no possibility of escape, but nevertheless she held her ground! "I know exactly what situation I am in, Captain!" Wendy replied firmly.

"Really?" he asked quietly and pointed at her sword. "Then you should drop that."

Wendy shook her head and Hook made a threatening step in her direction. Instantly the girl lifted her blade and pointed it toward the pirate's chest, which brought a gasp from the other men. Her mouth went dry, and it was impossible for her to look away from his eyes.

The blue eyes widened in complete surprise. "Do you really want to fight me, little girl?"

"No. But if you don't leave me any other choice, so be it!" Her voice sounded braver than she felt.

A quiet murmur went through the pirates and Hook frowned. "Don't be stupid, little one. You know that you don't stand a chance against me! I could kill you in the blink of an eye"

"If I've understood you correctly, Sir, then that is your intention anyway," she whispered, her voice soft.

Hook examined the girl before him and couldn't deny any longer that her courage impressed him. That, her charm and emerging beauty, mingled with her audacity, had captivated him from the beginning. In the world he had left long ago, as far as he could remember, girls were easy to frighten, shy, spineless little geese, who hid behind mother's skirt as soon as something unusual happened; or worse, fainted. But Wendy Darling did none of that. She faced danger, ready for a fight, even if she was afraid. And she was afraid, there was no doubt. He could read it in her dove-blue eyes, but nevertheless she didn't surrender. This was extraordinary! She reminded him of a feral kitten he had encountered, so tiny and soft, yet it raised its claws and hissed with sharp teeth at him. Wendy touched him in an unexpected way – again! "Normally, it would be a damn shame to waste your life," he murmured, lost in thought.

"That didn't prevent you from making me walk the plank the last time!" Wendy retorted, holding tight to the sword and all the courage she could find in herself. The sinking feeling in her stomach made her feel sick, and even the warm sun couldn't chased the chills now creeping through her, body and soul.

The captain lifted the other brow and answered, almost amused, "What else would you expect from a pirate?"

"Nothing more nor less than you've demonstrated!" she shot back, surprised at the returning strength in her voice. If she were going to die by his hand, then by God, she'd make him earn it!

A small smile played around his lips. "Then indeed, we are both of the same opinion!" He was mocking her, that much was clear. He pointed with his hook again on the sword. "Put it down, Wendy! I will not repeat myself!" Again Wendy shook her head, glowering. Hook took off his hat and threw it at Smee, who looked somewhat concerned between his commander and the girl. "Are you sure about this?" Hook asked.

"I will go down with flags flying, and not murdered like a rabbit!" she retorted, ignoring the murmurs of the other pirates, who were also beginning to admire her bravery. Who would ever dare to challenge Hook besides Pan?

The captain glanced around. "No one will interfere!" he commanded sharply. "That's an order! No one is going to spoil my fun!"

The buccaneers made room for him and Wendy. The girl frowned. Once again she felt her temper rising, which was a good weapon against Hook's imposing aura. "Fun, Captain? Tell me afterward how much fun it was!"

Hook saluted her mockingly. "I'll concede to you the first stroke, young lady!"

The blade reflected dangerously the sunshine, and Wendy swallowed again. She had barely managed to hold Cookson at bay. Surviving the first sally against Hook would be pure luck. But as she heard the crude comments and laugher of the other pirates, her tangential fear was dashed once more and made room for a refreshing anger. She might die, but perhaps she could give _him_ a 'souvenir' to remember her by!

Wendy attacked, and Hook parried the stroke with ease, which would have destroyed her hope if she had been thinking straight. But, to her luck, her temper had the upper hand and so she didn't think at all, but fought. The cheers of the buccaneers fell into the background; her whole concentration was directed at the captain. Like a flash, she ducked as he made a thrust, while she shoved her blade up and caught his stroke in mid air.

Hook lifted a brow. "Not bad, little one, not bad at all!" He pressed his sword against hers. "Perhaps you'd allow me to give you some advice? It might be bad form if I didn't call your attention to several fatal mistakes – after all, you haven't been schooled in fencing." Wendy didn't answer, but shot him a dark glare, which almost made him chuckle. He touched his blade gently against hers. "Normally you shouldn't strike so wide, for it gives your opponent too many openings. And during your encounter, allow the blade to dance from right to left and back again, but never lose contact with your adversary's blade, for then you can feel his intent." With an easy turn of his wrist, his sword slipped to the other side of her blade and returned to the first position in the wink of an eye. "The positioning of your wrist and fingers are quite important. They make small moves your adversary can't see, and realizes it -- many times -- too late." Wendy could suddenly feel the growing pressure and tightened her grip around the pommel. "Not too tightly," he added. "You lose flexibility when you clutch it like a club, and flexibility can be decisive during a sword-fight. And holding it too loosely can have this effect!" Suddenly his blade twisted around hers with so much speed she didn't even see his movements, and she nearly let her weapon fall.

Instinctively she skipped back and brought her blade out of danger before she could lose it. She looked at him, appraising, and she saw the sneer on his face. Her anger got the better of her. She would _not_ let him ridicule her! She attacked with well-aimed strokes, and, to her surprise, she fought with greater ease using his advice. The blade was much easier to guide as she used her fingers for support.

Nevertheless, Hook fended off her attacks casually – until she managed to get past his defense and drive her blade into the cuff of his coat sleeve. A long tear resulted. "Did you mean like that, Captain?" Wendy asked and her eyes sparkled triumphantly.

"Careful, Cap'n!" Mullins called. "T'e kitten shows 'er claws."

"And I'm sure t'at she can bite as well!" Bollard smirked.

Hook looked disgustedly at his tattered sleeve and gave the girl an irritated glare, but his eyes also held a hint of tribute. "Well well, my beauty!" His voice was low and dark, almost purring – but also dangerous, which made her shiver inwardly. "And now, as you've learned the basics so quickly, we can turn the game into battle!"

He attacked with lightning speed, and Wendy barely had the time to raise her sword. She realized Hook hadn't truly fought until now, only parrying her strokes, but hadn't used any serious counterstrikes. But now his sword drove with all his masculine strength down on hers, and if she hadn't used both hands, she would have lost her weapon. She had no opportunity to think about it, for the next blow hit her blade and she quickly spun away before the third stroke disarmed her.

She fled several steps away and faced him again. Like two dancers, they circled each other. The warm sand beneath Wendy's feet was soft and yielding and made the dance more difficult. But somehow she managed to offer Hook no steady target, remaining on her toes. '_Perhaps the "grace" lessons with Aunt Millicent weren't entirely useless after all!' _she thought.However the sand was cumbersome, and Wendy growing short of breath, not being allowed any exercise since her last visit. The sun was hot, and the first thin film of sweat showed on her forehead.

This didn't slip Hook's attention. "Had enough, girly?"

Wendy threw her long hair behind her, eyes flashing daggers at him. "Don't call me that! I already gave your cook a souvenir, and I would be glad to give his commander the same!"

The men surrounding them were amazed. _She threatened Hook?_ Then they heard something not often heard: their commander started to laugh – a rich deep sound, which didn't seem to fit the situation. "Then come here and try your luck, little one! Because luck is what you need the most!"

"Go to hell!" Wendy hissed, and attacked again, determined to make it as difficult as possible for the pirate to kill her.

"Shiver me timbers! Now t'at's fire!" Mason blurted out.

Cecco chuckled. "It really is a shame to waste her life."

"Temper _and_ beauty! W'at more do ye need?" Mullins grinned.

"T'at she be a few years older!" Skylight smirked.

The comments of the buccaneers and Hook's steady, sardonic expression infuriated Wendy. Her blows weren't that powerful, but they were well-thought, and she handled her weapon with everything she had. She instinctively knew his next attacks, and she had excellent powers of observation. It was obvious this girl had a great talent for fencing, and for a moment, Hook thought how it might turn out if he could train her.

Suddenly, she nearly ran under him again, and he decided that she'd had enough fun – even if he liked to fight with her, admittedly. "Did I ever tell you what is necessary to win a sword-fight?" he asked and parried her next stroke with ease. "No? Like a chess match, to anticipate your adversary's attacks."

Wendy didn't know what hit her, for his blade came down with power and forced the blade out of her hands. Before she could react, he closed the distance to her, throwing his sword toward Smee, grabbed her neck and whirled her around, pressing her back to him – taking care that the hook didn't hurt her. "End of the game, my beauty!" he whispered close to her ear, while his men applauded.

But Wendy wasn't ready to give up – not yet. She tried to wrench herself away from him, then finally threw her head back to hit him in the face. It had worked with Albino, but not with James Hook. He avoided her attack laughed in her ear. "I almost forgot your temper, Red-handed Jill!"

As Wendy heard that name again – the name she'd given herself when she imagined herself as pirate, a name she had confided to him months ago in his quarters -- she felt a bolt of anger and struggled against him again – with the opposite result. His grip tightened further, as he murmured softly: "By all means, fight, my little madcap, but if I were you, I would calm down!"

Wendy felt herself choking in his grip, and when she realized that what she feared most had come true, icy dread crept down her spine. She had fallen under Hook's control, completely at his mercy. With this terrifying cognition, her anger vanished.

But her trembling was not only for the death that lay ahead for her.

There was something more -- it had to do with his nearness, that warm masculine body pressed against her so … intimately. It made her feel helpless in an odd way. And as he brought his mouth near her ear and the hair of his moustache tickled her sensitive skin and his warm breath touched her cheek, she shuddered. It wasn't disgust she felt, nor even aversion, but a strange kind of paralysis, while goose flesh prickled over her back and arms and a strange sensation chased the sickness in her stomach away.

"Give up, child. You fought bravely, but now it's over." His voice was low, nearly gentle, but Wendy knew that he was not kind. There was no doubt what he would do with her: he would kill her, and she would count herself lucky if he made it painless. "Please," she whispered, "just do it quickly."

Hook realized what the girl meant, and was again surprised by her unwavering courage in the face of her own death. "Perhaps I shall, if you give me a reason – and some answers," he said under his breath, where only she could hear.

Again she struggled, but it was no use. She was delicately petite in his arms; still mostly a child, but also a part of the woman she would be some day – if he decided to let it come to that. He met her gaze as she looked up at him. Her dove-blue eyes, only minutes ago flashing with angry sparks, were dark now. The scent of roses and lavender reached him, mingled with her own sweet fragrance. '_The quality of soaps in London hasn't changed_,' he thought. '_Is a girl her age allowed to choose a soap so fitting for a young lady?'_ Hook took a deep breath, forcefully reminding himself, '_This little wench is cut from the same cloth as Pan, even if she is appealing!'_ This thought focused his attention back to the present.

"Shall we begin then?" he asked with false courtesy: "One: Have you come back alone, or the other boys with you? Two: Where are they? And three: Where is Peter's new hideout?"

Wendy bit her lips and answered in a small voice. "The first two questions I can answer. The third one I cannot."

He pressed, "I am convinced that you aren't telling me the truth, my beauty."

The girl shook her head and felt the sharp tip of his hook at her throat. "All the boys came with me," she said quickly, because he would this information get soon enough.

"And where they are now?" Hook wanted to know, pleased that he would be able to get revenge against the whole gang.

"I-- I don't know." The wobble in her voice gave her fear away, and she took a sharp breath, as the pressure of the cold metal at her skin grew.

"Are you sure, my dear?"

"Yes," she whispered. "As we arrived in Neverland, a seagull made me drop my bundle, and the boys are searching for it."

He shook his head. "It's such a shame for a young lady to lose her bundle, what ever it may contain."

Wendy grew stiff. "Sir! A gentleman never remarks about a lady's clothes!"

"Clothes?" he mocked. "Do you really own more than nightgowns?"

This time, the others heard them and started to laugh. Wendy blushed and only glared at Hook, for a moment forgetting her situation. She hadn't really surrendered yet, and her indignation amused him. Again, he had to remind himself of her treachery that night in order to recall his anger toward her. "So, you don't know where Pan's new hideout is?"

"No!"

"I don't believe you," he answered flatly.

Again she narrowed her eyes. "I never lie, Captain!"

He lifted his brow. "Excuse me, dear Jill, but that statement itself is a lie, for you surely know the difference between a thimble and a kiss! So you lied to me when you said you wanted to give Pan a 'thimble'."

"It was a private term between Peter and me, and--"

"How touching! How like a girl! And as a good friend, you simply wanted to explain it to him before he died!" He shook his head. "Don't toy with me, girl. I can make it very painful for you!" He saw her grow white, and nodded, satisfied. "And now answer my third question!"

"I. Do. Not. Know. Where. Peter. Lives!"

His grip grew quite painful while he turned her half way around to him. His look was piercing, threatening. He didn't say a word, but his expression would have made the bravest man run away. She was scared, he could clearly see, but she refused to give him the information he needed. "She doesn't know," he said aloud to his men, without taking his eyes from her. "What do you think, gentlemen?"

"She lies!"

"She don't want to give away t'e boy's hideout!"

"She's just bein' mulish!"

Hook sighed. "It doesn't look good for you, my beauty. But because I always prefer good form, I'll give you one last chance before I must change the tune."

Wendy trembled like a captured bird now. She knew that this wasn't an empty threat. "I don't know where it is! We just arrived at Neverland when I lost my bundle. We weren't even to Peter's home before it happened." She prayed that he would believe her and held his skeptical gaze without blinking.

"And during your search, you run into my arms. How fortunate that you hadn't been to the cave of your little hero, so I can't force any secret from you. How practical!" he retorted sarcastically.

Wendy swallowed. "Please. I couldn't betray him – even if I would know the location."

"That wasn't very wise, my dear!" he growled. "Supposing that you are telling the truth--"

"I am telling the truth!" she murmured, frowning at him.

"-- I am sure that Pan is not far away," he continued, and let his gaze roam over her angelic face, and then back at the trees. For a moment, he was tempted to let her go. Those blue-grey eyes could really cast a spell and could make the hardest stone melt But then, he remembered that he had made this mistake once, and he wouldn't be idiot enough to fall for it twice. "I know that look, my hearty!" he whispered. "But don't think that I'll let it trap me again."

She didn't answer, and his gaze fell to her trembling full lips grimly pressed together – the selfsame lips that had turned everything upside-down. Against his will, he felt a whiff of a very personal warmth, and clenched his teeth. '_Alas, why is this little creature so damnably adorable?'_

Giving himself a mental shake, he shoved these thoughts aside. "As I said before: I am sure that our Master Pan is not far away. Call him!" The girl shook her head and Hook gave her a bemused look. "Wendy, I sincerely admire your courage. But there is a difference between bravery and foolishness. So please have sense enough and call him, and I'll set aside my intention to take your life."

"As you swore not to send one of your men after me when I was a 'guest' on your ship?"

He grinned. "That was my parrot, Short Tom, who followed you to your dear Peter Pan's underground-home. Would you really call that bird one of my men?"

Her eyes widened before her face darkened. "You mean, sneaky--"

"Be careful, m'dear! It's you who have a blade at your throat."

"And you need me to get to Peter!" she retorted.

"Correct. But don't count on that too strongly. I've dreamed of making you pay for what you did to me, and you can be sure that I'll not spare you any of it, if you continue in this obstinacy – even if you are a female!" He had reached the end of his patience, that was certain. "Call him!"

"No!" Her voice was low, but firm. Only her darkened eyes betrayed her horror.

"For the last time: CALL HIM!"

Her fear for Peter redoubled her determination. "NO!"

It was that moment that they all heard a low rumble, which grew then ebbed away, and returned – stronger than before. With a loud shrieking, a vast number of birds flew up from the forests, while the deep noise grew. "What's t'at?" the superstitious Mullins whispered, while Hook looked warily around him.

He knew that noise. He had heard it before when he'd been in the Ottoman Empire and—

The realization hit him like a hammer. "Earthquake!" he gasped. He whirled around to his men, pressing the girl to him. "LIE DOWN!" he shouted, falling and pulling Wendy with him.

The girl screamed, terrified as the beach suddenly began to rock under them. She grew dizzy as the land seemed to roll like the ocean, and her instinct ordered her to run as quickly as possible. The instincts of a city-dweller become stunted, living in such an artificial environment; nevertheless, certain situations awaken them again. And Wendy was, of course, no exception – especially being a very sensible child. She felt Hook pull her beneath him and hold her tightly, while the horrid roar thundered in her ears and made every nerve in her body twitch. Stones detached from the nearby cliffs and scampered down, smacking into the sea or rolling across the beach.

The earthquake seemed never to end, even though it lasted no more than a half minute. Then, suddenly, everything was silent again. Only the birds still screeched in the skies. Wendy was still terrified, and clung to Hook's arm on which she was lying. As the earth stilled and the men rose again, she looked around her like an animal, searching desperately for an escape route.

"Cap'n! T'e water!" Smee shouted, and as Hook wasn't paying attention to Wendy, she broke free from him and fled, evading several boulders which hadn't been there before, and ran toward the sea.

Hook whirled around and saw what his bo'sun meant. "Up the cliffs with you all! As high as possible! Hurry!" he barked and pursued the girl. The ocean was retreating, further and further, much farther than low tide, surf-feeders left flopping in the white sand, coral and seaweed exposed.

This is the greatest danger if you are near the sea immediately after an earthquake. The water retreats, then returns in an enormous wave of destruction – sometimes as high as a tall tower. "Wendy! Come back!" Hook screamed and felt the change in the air. It was only a question of moments until the sea would flow back and kill them.

Wendy heard the shout of the pirate-captain as if through a fog and ran, but her legs tangled in the long nightgown; the skirt, she had fixed into the belt, had coming down by now. She only wanted to get away from this unsteady ground and the danger Hook represented.

The buccaneer glanced at the horizon and there he saw the rising wall of water. "Come back! You're running into your death!" he cried on the top of his voice, made three more long strides and reached her. He wrapped his left arm around her waist, pulled the yelping girl up and reversed, throwing her over his shoulder. As quickly as possible with this burden, he ran up the beach over the deep sand well past the high tide mark. He searched for a great rock, one heavy enough to resist the water's power and might offer him and his little captive at least a modicum of protection.

He heard the roar of the tidal wave approaching while the ground started to vibrate. He threw himself behind a rock over three meters high, pressed the girl between him and the stone, trying to control the terrified child. He slapped her – not too hard, but enough to break through her panicky haze. '_Dammit, why do I bother to catch her before the water takes her?'_ he wondered.

Wendy was almost out of her mind, and only the slap woke her sense again. She heard the noise and it dawned on her what was going on around her. She felt her mind must playing tricks on her, because, contrarily, she suddenly felt much safer with Hook instead of the sea she loved. She looked up into his face, which had gone white as well, while he wrapped his strong arm around her again and gripped her belt. In his eyes, she saw the first signs of fear, which almost made her lose control again. If this man was afraid, then surely it was hopeless… She recognized the noise now and stammered: "What can we do--?"

He forced his hook into a solid-looking crevice in the rock wall in front of them. For once, he was grateful for the embrace of the harness around his chest and shoulder which would hold them firmly. He heard Wendy stifling a sob as she filled her lungs again and again, and glanced down at her. She trembled like a leaf in the wind and, for the first time today, he saw tears in her eyes. "Hold onto me, whatever may come!" he ordered, and as the first tear rolled down her cheek, he held her even tighter. "We'll make it, beauty! It takes more than seawater to defeat James Hook!" Alas, was he really comforting her? His enemy? Had he lost his mind?

She wrapped her arms and legs around him and clung to him like a lifeline, which took him by surprise. "When I say 'now', then take the deepest breath you can, and hold it as long as you can!" He had to shout now to be heard over the approaching wave. She nodded and as the first water splashed over the rock, she closed her eyes and buried her face at his throat, while she heard him calling at her ear "NOW!".

Then the world she knew skipped…

TBC…


	5. Meeting Old Friends And Enemies

Hi, dear readers,

I'm sorry that it took so long, but I had a problem with the document-manager and the up-load with the chapter. But this problem is solved and so the next chapters will come more quickly.

Have fun,

Lywhn

**Chapter 4 – Meeting Old Friends -- and Enemies **

Peter was following his instincts through the dense growth, alert to everything around him. He'd only searched a few moments when Tink suddenly arrived, completely beside herself, urging him to follow her.

Tink had gone to help them search – even if she didn't want to – scanning the area toward the Ancient Forest, the only direction the children didn't go to look for 'that stupid girl's baggage.' This forest spread from the southern part of Neverland, across the central foothills to the mountains, and covered a large portion of the island. Pines and palms wouldn't grow there, for the turf was too rich, those varieties needing dry, sandy earth. For that reason, this primordial wonderland was populated by oaks, beeches, sycamores and other broad-leafed trees, as well as different deciduous varieties. Ferns and brakes were abundant, and offered shelter for the smaller animals. Streams sculpted waterfalls, brooks and creeks through the island, and provided the plant life with its abundant moisture. In the twisted roots of the trees lived little gnomes, and skeaghshees lived in the knotholes– a little folk distantly related to the fairies, caretakers of the trees in which they lived.

Chief among them all -- and what had had called Peter away from the beach area without a second thought -- were the Green Masters– the spirits of the trees who were attached to the life of the trees. The Green Men were kindly, for the most part, rarely showing themselves to people, and then only to the ones who loved and respected their home. Each was an element of the tree he lived in, and experienced everything that happened to it, for it happened to him as well. The Green Masters, the hamadryads, possessed an ancient knowledge and, because of their deep roots, they could feel changes in the land instantly. And one of the Masters – the eldest who lived in the King of Oaks on the island, the master of Masters – had called to the fairy as she passed him, to "… bring the youth who wears our garments…"

The fairy nearly fell out of the air, for the last time this tree-spirit had shown himself was … was … well, further back than _she_ could remember -- an eternity ago. And that he suddenly broke his silence could only mean one thing: Danger!

She had found Peter quickly. _Of course_, her Peter had been courteous, allowing the girl to take a rest on the beach, while he searched for her belongings. (To Tink's everlasting resentment, the boy only seemed to find his manners when Wendy was around.) She was relieved that she needn't explain to Peter how important this summons was. Even if the boy had a memory like a sieve, he was constantly aware of the ancient beings in Neverland, and never ignored them when they asked for him. So as she tugged at his ear, he looked one last time toward Wendy, who was standing near the water's edge, enjoying herself, and decided that she was in no danger. The merfolk were further north, never leaving the lagoon during the warm part of the day, and wild animals didn't drink the salt-water. So she was safe, as far as he could tell, and Peter followed Tink, convinced that the discussion with the sylvan king wouldn't last long.

As he reached the Ancient Forest and dived into its green shadows, the tropical temperatures changed to warm moist air, while the trees and other plants exhaled a full-bodied, resinous scent. Deer, rabbits, squirrels, foxes watched them pass at a rush, and several gnomes, shoveling dirt out of their little holes among the tree roots, glanced up. Yes, Peter Pan often swept by them, but this time they all saw his frown, and that made them frown as well. If the lighthearted eternal boy was disturbed, then something big was in the air.

Peter made for the north, seeking out the King of Oaks which was – if the legends had it right – the issue of the first tree in Neverland: The Never-Tree.

"Uh, where is it, Tink?"

The fairy shook her head in frustration – had she really been thinking something _good_ about his memory only moments before? – and pointed beyond a stand of firs. Peter nodded, recognizing the spot, and moments later, touched down by the gnarled trunk of the towering oak. Its leafy top was wide and overspread the surrounding beeches, providing shade for the small animals scampering at its base. Peter looked around and cleared his throat. "Master Dagda?" he called. "You sent for me?"

Tink flew beside him and jingled something, and Peter retorted, "I was polite!" but stopped when he heard a coarse woody sound. In a moment, the bark of the old tree seemed to open and, suddenly, the face of an old man appeared. Well, not really a face, not a human face, anyway, more like a part of the tree had put on something like eyes, a nose and a mouth, but you could also see through it to the tree itself.

Master Dagda seemed to blink a moment, his gaze falling on the boy and his fairy-companion. He surveyed the child from curls to toes, who bowed deeply before the Master, then rose to his self-assured posture. "How are you, Master Dagda?" the treble reached the unseen ears, and the Master seemed to sigh, the sound of leaves tossing in the tops of trees.

In his time, as reckoned by men and (before that) by others, folk had prayed to him and had venerated him as a deity. Wise old men had drawn circles around his trunk to protect him against evil and had celebrated the midsummer to honor him, because he represented the connection between light and darkness. But this era was over, and he had found a place in Neverland, where had joined with the sweet spirit of the oldest of trees. They had become one and were very satisfied with this arrangement. And Dagda had become accustomed to interaction with the little flyers and sometimes with the children of men, even if he still had some difficulty with it. He grumbled something that seemed to come from under the earth, then he said. "The sun shines for my leaves to satisfy my hunger, the water is clear for my thirst and the air is fresh," he said in a voice unused for a very long time. "But this will change. The soil where my roots live now shivers. I can feel a darkness coming nearer."

Peter frowned glancing at Tink then back at the spirit in the tree. "Your pardon, Sir, but what do you mean -- 'the soil shivers'?" He looked down at the soft, green grass where he stood. "It feels the same as ever."

The Green Master sighed loudly and one of his branches twitched, as if he wanted to give the boy a slap on the shoulder in remonstrance for the doubt in his words. "I feel its every mood. I know the paths of every rabbit, every worm, every burrower in Neverland. The earth has been shaken out of its deep tranquility. The balance between light and dark is disturbed. The world you walk in is not pleased with this. It will become angry."

"The world?" the boy asked, confusion showing plainly on his young face. Another grumble was the answer. "But how can the world, the earth, be angry, sir?"

"Because it is perceptive, and it is not good to wake the earth!" another voice creaked woodenly behind him. Peter whirled and looked into a similar face, this one united with a very old beech.

The boy tugged a curl. "Hello, Master Fagus!"

The other Green Master blinked at him. He was the master of all beeches and his history was much like Dagda's. "He…hello, boy!" He wasn't used to this kind of greeting. "What Master Dagda attempts to tell you is that the world beneath your feet reacts to everything harmful to it. After all, it is a part of the Great Dance. And disturbing that Dance can be most … unpleasant."

Peter frowned, thinking furiously, while Dagda continued: "Just as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted." There was a rumble that sounded an awful lot like "Harrumph!"

Fagus made a face and several of his branches shivered. "He is so thin-skinned!" he sighed.

Dagda ignored his neighbor and turned his attention back to Peter. "I can feel the darkness rising. Coldness creeps through my leaves and freezes them – as if winter would come. Be careful, boy, something very old is approaching."

"Something very old?" Peter repeated, looking back and forth between the ancients. "What is it?"

"Like as we are," Fagus interrupted, glaring at Dagda when he started to protest. "They are ruled not by the light, as you and your little friend here, but by the darkness. They follow one who believes he can master the dark powers. And he is powerful. I feel it."

"He breathes cold like the winter storm, and his hunger for power will never be satisfied," Dagda said before the other finished. "He brings hardship and misery to Neverland and will be difficult to withstand."

Peter frowned, most unhappy with the news. "But-- what does he want here? I didn't call him."

A wind seemed to blow through their foliage, sounding again like a sigh. "Many things will come to this world and others without our summons. You cannot change it, young Pan, you can only live with it, or through it – or defeat it," Dagda intoned.

"But--" Peter started again, his face now pale.

"But you two are frightening the boy with your ramblings about darkness and nasty old life forms!" a third voice interrupted. It sounded younger, even if it creaked. Peter turned around and saw a younger Master who lived in a yew, who smiled encouragingly at him. "Don't lose your courage, little one. Those two are famous as worrywarts."

The boy's face regained some color– he liked this Green Master instantly – and winked back at him. He set his mouth in a firm line. "You'll have to do worse than that to dent my courage!"

The ancient Green Masters gasped, and Dagda's shifted to look on the younger one, roots pulling from the ground. "Who asked you, you impudent sapling?" he growled and the bark between his eyes became a deep pucker.

The younger one only smiled. "Really! Instead of clearly stating what you think might happen, you speak in riddles, and confuse the boy. How is he to understand you two?"

Dagda and Fagus both barked: "Be still when the ancients are talking!"

The yew gaped at them – and snapped his mouth closed, his expression deeply offended, while turned his head. Peter sighed, looking from one to the next. "Perhaps one of you is going to tell me what's happening?"

The Green Masters glared at him – and the yew-spirit gave a creaky giggle, but shushed it immediately. "There are written words which might help you," Master Dagda said. "And we can feel that a portal, which had been closed for long ages, will open soon."

"What written words? And what portal?" Peter asked, finally completely confused. A loud croaking distracted the eternal boy and the ancient beings. The old oak seemed to shake, as the tried to look up into the top of the neighbor-beech, while Peter lifted his gaze. "A raven?" the boy blurted out. "How is it that a raven comes to Neverland? I've only seen his kind in London or--"

"Ah no!" Fagus droned. "This is a bad sign. A very bad sign!" Peter shot him a glare, not comprehending why the appearance of a single bird was so bad. The Master explained: "A raven is a warning. These birds come as a premonition, when the world is preparing to change."

Peter looked back at the black bird, whose plumage shimmered a deep green in the sunlight. "Tink, could you ask the raven why it's here?" he asked, and Tink looked at him askance, eyebrow raised as if in disbelief, then turned to look at the bird warily. As a fairy, she knew of the significance of a raven, but they were -- besides an omen – often birds of prey, and what if this bird was not familiar with fairies? Tink would never know, for in the next moment, all the birds in the forest took to the air in a screeching panic, the raven with them.

The next moment, a low roar sounded from deep beneath and the forest began to quiver. Peter's eyes widened. "What --" he gasped.

"FLY!" the yew shouted. "Fly, boy! In the air you're safe!"

"What is it?" Peter screamed back, as the roar grew louder, and louder, and soared several inches over the grass.

"I told you: The earth is angry," Master Dagda boomed. "Someone has disturbed it. Up in the air with you, boy. Neverland will need you unharmed!"

The images of the Green Masters disappeared, and Peter shot up high above the trees, Tink at his side. Shocked, he saw the trees tremble, and some of them fell with a sickening crack, taking smaller trees and forest growth with them. A deep rumble echoed from the mountains, as loose rocks crashed down. The eastern sea rushed against the cliffs, convulsing even the Black Castle.

Feeling an unfamiliar twinge of fear, the boy glanced around him. Thousands of birds were in the air over Neverland, and screeched their alarm. A sound like thunder rolled over the island, and for a moment, something blazed up at the volcano – the Mount of No Return – and an eerie red light lit the skies. Peter's breath caught in his throat, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. "Tink! What's going on?" he asked hoarsely, looking around him, while his friend's expression was also one of helpless ignorance.

Then he remembered: Wendy! The Lost Boys! They were down there, somewhere in that chaos. And Wendy was on the beach! Right, no danger from trees, but he knew that she must be frightened. For a moment, he was torn between seeking the boys or flying to the girl, but the odds of the boys being hurt were greater than Wendy's, so he took off toward the marshes, never seeing the looming wave that approached the shore in the south-west.

---------------------------------

Millions of gallons of sea-water exploded about the man and the girl behind the rock, and their ears were filled with the brown water. The flood ripped at Hook and Wendy, threatening to drag them with it across the land and back out to sea, but the hook was anchored in the stone-niche and the solid harness made of leather and wood resisted the water's grip. The straps cut mercilessly into his flesh, but prevented them from being swept to certain death.

After long moments, the force of the water grew weaker, until the world seemed to stop, but only for a moment – almost as if it were collecting itself. Then the flood rolled back toward the sea, and forced Hook and Wendy toward the boulder. The man felt himself hurled against the sharp edges of it and the girl in his arm jerked as his back was thrown against the rock. His hand grazed itself at the rough stone, but he never lost his grip on the girl's belt.

He felt the need to breathe growing, but determinedly, he continued to count to ten before he blew out a bit of it. The battering of the water changed into a gurgle, and then the water retreated far enough to bring the surface down so that his head broke through. Hook gasped for air, spitting out the salt-water. He hated that taste! Panting, he looked down at the girl hanging motionless in his arm. "Are you well?" he asked hoarsely, but received no answer. Frowning he shook her, but Wendy's eyes remained closed, and her head fell on his chest. She was unconscious.

This was not good! Hastily Hook looked around him. The water was retreating to the sea more quickly now, and its force was threatening to wrench him and the girl off the rock and into the sea. Since the water was now waist deep, he pulled Wendy higher up to him so that her head would remain over the water when the next wave came, for the next one _would_ come, this was certain.

And he was right. The roiling sea sent another wave over the shore, not as high nor as powerful as the first one, but strong enough to sweep any man from his feet. Hook waited until the water drew back again, then he withdrew his metal prosthesis out of the crack in the rock, lifted the unconscious girl into his arms and started to run up the battered beach. He had to put some distance between them and the sea before the next wave could sweep ashore. He headed toward the pines and palms – or rather, their remains.

Most of the trees were snapped off abruptly several feet above the ground and trunks, palm-leaves and branches lay all over the beach and the area behind, as well as dislodged rocks and bushes. Even some of the mangroves from the marshes had been unable to resist the power of the water. Above him, the birds still screamed and a small shiver ran through the ground - an aftershock. But it wasn't strong enough to be a danger.

The captain finally arrived in a safe place where no further waves would reach them, and laid his little captive carefully down on the wet sand. Quickly he checked her, holding his hand under her nose. Not breathing! He cursed colorfully. Yes, of course, he wanted to put this little bitch away, but she was right when she said that he needed her to get Pan. That rascal would risk everything to protect his sweetheart, even his life, and so she wouldn't be any use if she died now.

Aside from this, the sight of the pale, sodden, unconscious girl woke an unfamiliar feeling in him. Wendy was such a delicate and vulnerable creature, yet she fought him so bravely, faced danger with such a courage that demanded his respect. Such an odd feeling. And he hadn't felt much of anything besides rage, hunger, fear, ennui and tiredness for a small eternity that ANY new feeling might – possibly -- be welcome.

And of all the rotten luck, here comes this stupid tidal wave, and she dies in it? By carbonate of soda, NO!

Thinking fast, not knowing if it could possibly help, he pulled her head back, opened her mouth, closed her nose with his fingers, took a deep breath and pressed his mouth onto hers, blowing his breath into her lungs. He repeated it for two more times, sat up, laid his hand on her chest over her heart and pressed three times, as though her own heart was beating. Then he inhaled again and gave her his breath again. "Come on, girl! You're stronger than that!" he growled and repeated the procedure again.

He felt her pushing him away, and then, Wendy moaned, coughing and spitting water. Hook roller her on her side, and she promptly threw up a quantity of dirty seawater. She coughed again and gasped convulsively for air.

He could feel her panic returning, and bent over her. "Calm down, beauty! It's over!" he murmured and stroked her back to stimulate her circulation as well as reassure her.

Wendy fought for air like a fish on land. Her throat burnt, her chest hurt, her blood buzzed in her ears and her head felt as though she had a nasty cold. The only things she could make out about her surroundings were the glaring light and a soft voice that soothed her. The impulse to cough was so intense that she thought she would suffocate, and she rolled to her side, barking and hacking as if to expel both of her lungs. Her stomach convulsed again, and seemed to turn inside out. Yes, she did feel the sun's warmth on her back, but it didn't chase away the terrible cold in her body. She forced her eyes open and saw the wet sand and leaves beneath her, while birds screamed above her.

And then she remembered –

_She was underwater. She couldn't breath! She held her breath as long as she could, and then felt herself drifting away. Water entered her lungs, and then everything around her vanished into darkness. She choked and coughed again, and her eyes filled with tears, as an inner voice whispered: 'You drowned!' _

Hook held her off the sand with his right arm – the metal claw turned away from her – as she threw up again. The convulsing choking, her trembling and her gasping for air told him enough: She'd been to the edge of death without entering its shadows forever. "Let it out!" he grumbled, and tightened his grip around her, as she heaved again. He could feel her trembling and heard her sob.

Suddenly, the irony of the situation struck him. Months ago, he had sent her to the plank to the very same death he had saved her from today. And the oddest thing was that – at that time – he had no real reason to kill her (other than the fact that it would have weakened Pan). But now he had very good reason indeed to let her die. She had tricked him, almost sealed his doom. And what did he do? He ran into a tidal wave, risked his own life to save hers and bring her back to life.

What was it about this impertinent little sprig that negated all his dastardly intentions? "Brimstone and gall!" he hissed and turned the girl around on her back. For a moment, he considered strangling her, but as his glare met her big, uncomprehending eyes, reddened from her ordeal, and saw her innocent face, contorted with terror, this intention drained out of him. And then his gaze found her lips, and though she said nothing, her lips told him words he didn't understand. This mouth … young as it was … had been born … to be kissed. Ah, yes, he saw it now.

All right, as he breathed for her, his action had nothing at all to do with a kiss, but the effect had been the same. Even the salt and the lingering chill on her skin had not disavowed the soft sweet sensation he tried to ignore – until now. Damn it! Damn it all to hell! "It really is no wonder that the boy has outgrown himself!" he whispered, without realizing that he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

Wendy blinked into the warm light of the sun and rubbed her burning eyes. She licked her lips and tasted only salt and sand and the sour taste of her own stomach. Slowly she began catch her breath and started to calm as she saw the azure sky above her.

Everything sank in. She had survived a tidal wave! This was incredible! She searched out the gaze of her rescuer kneeling beside her, and met his deep blue eyes. He was as soggy as she, his long black curls dripping, hanging partly in his face. His expression surprised her, for it lacked the usual arrogance and sneering. It wasn't sinister, like she had seen it so many times before; he rather observed her thoughtfully, as if trying to figure something out. And – in that moment – she saw other emotions in that one expression – relief and frustration. He seemed to be uncertain, which made him appear younger than he was. Wendy took a deep breath. She knew his help wasn't born of altruism, that was out of question. But it didn't matter at this moment. She was more than grateful that he saved her. She heard him clearing his throat.

"Are you all right?" he murmured and examined her carefully.

"Yes," the girl said, her voice was hoarse, and it hurt to speak. "Thank you, Captain!"

He looked at her a moment longer, and pulled her into a seated position next to him. Feeling dizzy she leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. In so doing, she missed how he bit his lips and glanced down at her, puzzled, and put his arm about her shoulders.

This girl didn't recoil, but stayed at his side without protest? _'And -- sink me -- why does it touch me so?'_ he thought, angrily with himself. He had sworn to never fall prey to her charms again! But to his own shock he heard himself saying: "Try to relax und breathe steadily. The sickness will go away, if--"

"Let her go, Hook!" The angry voice came from directly above the man and the girl, and acting on pure instinct the buccaneer shoved the girl down to the ground and threw himself aside. He barely escaped the knife that was aimed for his chest. Peter halted his drive midair, turned, made a graceful loop low to the ground and returned – the sharp blade of the knife pointed at the undefended throat of his mortal enemy.

Even if she lived another hundred years, Wendy would never be able to explain what she did next. She only felt that it would be the biggest mistake in the world if Peter would kill Hook now. Without another thought, she threw herself over the man, protecting him with her own body, while she lifted a hand toward the boy. "NO, Peter!" she croaked and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blade to impale her.

It never came. The boy's reflexes were lightning and more trained than those as accustomed to fighting as Peter. Seeing Wendy before him instead of Hook, he swept aside and his knife drove deeply into the sand, only inches away from the captain and the girl.

For a long moment, no one moved, then Hook sat up and roughly shoved Wendy aside, while Peter stared unbelieving at her. Both said as one: "What was that for?"

Wendy rose to her knees and glared at them, both males half perplexed, half irritated. "Captain Hook saved my life!" she simply stated, her voice returning.

"And so you throw yourself in front of my knife?" Peter gasped.

"I'm touched!" Hook sneered.

The girl looked from one to the other one and shook her head. These two were both so entirely obstinate … "The captain saved me from drowning. And I have prevented you from killing him, Peter." Her gaze met Hook's. "We are even, Captain!"

For several seconds, the buccaneer looked at her, astonished. There she sat, a mere slip of a girl, wet, clad only in that eternal nightgown, with dripping hair and still fighting the effects of a near-drowning. He could strike her down in the blink of an eye, and she talked with the pride of a noblewoman. He couldn't help himself, and laughed. "Just listen to the little pint-size over there! She's even cockier than you, Pan!"

Finally, the two enemies looked at each other and realized that they sat only feet apart in the middle of the beach. Wendy saw Hook narrowing his eyes and yelled a warning the same moment the captain whirled around to Peter and struck at him with his hook.

But Peter had seen him gathering himself and dodged out of the way, rolling to safety. "Lying coward!" he snarled, and reached to pull his knife out of the sand, but felt Hook's weight on his back. The pirate's hand gripped Peter's wrist and wrenched him backward up to him, pressing the tip of his hook at the boy's throat. Peter grew stiff as the sharp blade cut a shallow slice at his throat, and the man's hot breath touched his cheek.

"I don't have your scruples, boy!" Hook scoffed triumphantly. "They make you weak, so I had to win someday!"

Peter held his breath, not daring to move, while an icy knot grew in his belly. He knew that his life hung by a thread and that he couldn't expect any mercy from his mortal enemy. Contrary to the statement once made in the depths of the Black Castle, dying wasn't the great adventure he wanted to experience. "I knew you'd come to search for her," Hook continued tauntingly. "I only had to wait! Just look at you, boy! That 'thimble' has changed you! You learned to care! I would like to say that was for the best, but it doesn't really matter now, because this is when you die!"

Peter tried to break free, but Hook's grip was too tight. The warrior adult was stronger than he, that he knew quite well from experience. A shiver ran down his spine. This couldn't be the end!

"But I can understand you, Peter!" The pirate's voice was sheer mockery. "Her lips really are soft, and taste sweet, sweet as honey and wine." The boy jerked as if his foe had already plunged his hook into him.

His thoughts whirled. The captain's words could mean only one thing: that he had stolen a 'thimble' from Wendy! _NEVER_ would she give him one of her own free will, even if he really had saved her life! Rage swept through Peter, driving out the horror which had almost overpowered him. With a shout of wrath he reared back, and only the sharp point of the hook hindered him from struggling further.

Hook laughed maliciously. "That's why I don't give in to the foolishness of sweet feelings, boy! They are good for nothing – they make you weak!" Again, Peter tried his best to break the pirate's grip, but the result was the same. He felt the tip of the hook digging into his throat, while his enemy said in an odd voice: "At least you're dying in the knowledge that you are loved. Even if our little beauty over there bears the guilt … of your death!"

'The little beauty' would not stand idly as Peter died by his adversary's hand. After the first shock, she got up, ran to the grappling foes and – without thinking of the consequences – jumped onto the pirate's back. At the same time she pulled at his hair and kicked at him. "Paw and hook away from Peter, or I really will get angry!" she hissed.

For a second, Hook was too perplexed to react. This little bitch had the boldness to attack him with her bare hands? And that after he had just saved her life?

Peter used that hesitation and threw his head back, striking Hook on the bridge of his nose, and the man gasped, tears springing into his eyes. By all the devils of hell, that hurt! Simultaneously, he felt Peter break free from him as Wendy's little fists boxed his ears. Giving the boy a good whack on the head, he shoved him into the sand and jumped up, taking the wildcat on his back with him.

Peter managed it to absorb his fall. The blow made him dizzy and his head hurt, but he reached for his knife, rolled away and rose – ready to finish his foe once and for all –

A shot rang out and Peter felt the whiff of a bullet passing his face. Outraged voices came from opposite the beach, and hastily he looked at the cliffs. He saw Hook's crew who were ashore, climbing down the cliffs where they had retreated for shelter against the giant wave.

He felt a second bullet pass through his curls. Time was running out! With a dive he was at Hook's side, who struggled to defend himself against a wild Wendy. Why he didn't use his claw to finish her off just now was something Peter didn't think about. He kicked at the pirate's leg, so that the man lost his balance. At the same time, he pulled the girl from Hook's back, gasping, "Looks like we've worn out our welcome -- time to go!"

Wendy's eyes widened as she saw and heard the approaching pirates, and found herself lifted in Peter's arms. An instant later, they were in the air.

Again, several weapons fired in their direction and Hook, who had regained his feet, whirled on his men. "Belay this foolishness, dogs!" he barked. "I don't want the brat to die that easily!" His men obeyed immediately, returning to their commander, who looked with burning eyes up to the children, who now soared over his head, far out of his reach. "Pray that I never get you, Pan!" he snarled. "Or you'll wish that you were never born!" Rage shook him as the boy only grinned at him as if he had made a good joke. Then his gaze pierced the girl, who looked warily down on him. "That goes for you as well, you little witch! I was ready to spare your sorry life of a soon-to-be obedient housewife, but my patience has at last found its end! You're going to pay dearly for all you've done!"

Wendy watched him soberly, then she straightened her shoulders. "As if that were truly your intention, Captain!" she responded boldly, but her voice gave her uncertainty away.

"It was my intention!" Hook hissed and looked with a strange expression at her. "Otherwise I would never have given you my breath. I would have let you drown like I planned once before!"

"Such empty boasting!" Peter said, and added aggressively: "You can't even defend yourself against a girl without your men coming to rescue you!"

The pirates halted beside their commander, and Smee handed Hook his sword, his face darkened to an angry red.

Wendy threw Peter a glare. What did he mean, "even a girl"!

Hook ignored the wild curses of his men and fixed his gaze on Peter. "Be watchful, Pan, be wary, or your end will come sooner than you think!" His voice was quiet, but there was so much menace in it that it made Wendy shiver.

The boy only laughed. "Promises, promises, pie-crust promises! Make sure you dry off before you catch cold! Godspeed, codfish!"

"And thank you for the fencing lesson!" Wendy added, before she lowered her gaze, having an attack of conscience. "And thank you for saving my life!" she murmured. As she met his glare, she saw the expected fury in his eyes, but there was more. Something like hurt lingered behind his eyes. But it vanished so quickly that Wendy thought she had been mistaken.

"Be careful, little girl!" he whispered dangerously. "I told you before: Never toy with me!"

Wendy didn't answer. She didn't know what she could say. Hook had saved her life, after all, and she should show him her gratitude instead of mocking him. But after he attacked Peter, she had seen red. Now she almost regretted her words. The boy had no such thoughts – of course. He only bowed tauntingly to his mortal enemy and flew away with his friend on his arms, back inland.

Hook let out a frustrated scream and plunged his metal claw into a fallen tree. "I'll get you both! I'll get you and then God have mercy on you, for the devil and I won't!"

---------------------------------

Deep beneath the enchanted island, a tall scrawny figure lifted his head and looked thoughtfully into the red glowing shadows. He laid a long bony finger on his thin lips and took a deep breath, before he turned toward a feathered creature. Almost-white eyes with black, endlessly deep pupils met yellow-black ones, and a high, shaky voice said: "The eternal youth and its natural foe could have killed each other. If this had happened, we would have eliminated our concerns for once and all – and sooner as we thought." He pointed at the feathered creature. "I want to know if this was an unfortunate accident, or if there is more! Watch them, Kelaino! Watch them and inform me!"

Mighty wings spread and a witch-like face frowned. "I cannot roam freely over this island, Master. There are too many from the other side who could betray us. And there is still the sun! It hurts my kind!" The croaking voice was barely female.

The tall figure made a frustrated gesture. "Not long, now! Wait, my loyal friend. Our time will come soon!"

------------------------------------

Minutes later, Wendy forgot Hook as Peter had brought her to the eastern end of the marshes and she found all the boys unharmed. Yes, they were wet, and John had a new tear in his nightgown, but the episode could have had far more tragic consequences. And, even more fantastically, they found her bag shortly before the water came. Tootles handed it over to Wendy with pride. Normally, the chubby boy was too late for the adventures, but this time he was the hero, and as the girl stroked through his tousled hair, he seemed to grow an inch with pride.

Quickly, the boys reported what had happened. They had been all over the marshes, when suddenly from everywhere, fairies surrounded them and had warned them by pointing to the ground and the sea with frantic gestures, signaling to the boys to follow them. Any Lost Boy who spent time in Neverland's wilderness knew that the little creatures could be trusted. Trusting them now, they had run toward the forests just as the earth had started to shake. They threw themselves to the ground, and none of the falling trees had hit them. And so they had escaped the deadly water which had surged over the shores of the island. So, when Peter found his friends unharmed – also guided by the fairies (frightened, and wondering what happened) – he headed toward the beach in the west to find Wendy.

The boys surrounded Wendy, seeing her state. And when she told them she had met Hook, had survived a duel with him, and that he had saved her life, she was pummeled with shouted questions. None of them could believe that the cruel and brutal pirate-captain really had risked his own life to safe hers. But Peter wouldn't let them stop, and herded them toward the new hideout.

"What happened?" Nibs asked the girl, on their way to the heart of Neverland, their destination.

Wendy bit her full lips and blushed. "As-- when the earthquake started, I panicked and ran after the water as it retreated to the sea. I suppose Hook realized the danger and followed me, reached me in time and carried me away into the safety of a big rock. He held me there as the tidal wave came." She lowered her head. "Without him, I would most assuredly be dead now."

"And as payment, he took a thimble!" Peter snarled – and Wendy looked at him, shocked.

"What? Have you lost your mind?"

Tootles started to giggle, and John grimaced. Peter signaled his friends to go ahead of him – Tinker Bell, too, even though she protested – and waited until they'd moved ahead of the two of them. The girl ignored Michael's "Huh!" as he passed her, only having eyes for the eternal boy.

As soon as the gang was out of earshot, she turned to Peter, her face indignant. "How dare you say such a thing?"

The eternal boy returned her irritated look. "When Hook was kneeling on me with his hook at my throat, he said something he only could know if he'd gotten a thimble from you. I don't mean that you gave it freely, but--"

"What did he tell you?" the girl demanded, her eyes blazing.

Peter cleared his throat and lowered his head, clearly embarrassed – and jealous. "He said that you tasted sweet, like honey and wine, and that-- that-- he could understand me now." He pursed his lips and glanced away.

Wendy had the same feeling as if someone had emptied a bucket of cold water over her head. Not only did the captain's simile shock her, but that Peter had the same opinion. Wine and honey was the recipe for ambrosia, something you were served in Paradise, food of the gods, as she had learned in school. How on earth had Hook come up with such a description? She knew he had a great collection of books in his cabin (she had seen it as his 'guest'), but she never thought he would quote classical literature. Of course, Peter couldn't know these things, but she was certain that the pirate-captain had chosen his words carefully. But how he had come to make this confession was a miracle to her.

Peter saw her deep blush and drew his own conclusions. "You DID give him one!" he blurted and realized the mistake he made as Wendy exploded.

"_NO_! I have _NOT_ and would never do that! How dare you imply such a thing? You know exactly how much I loathe him! He made me walk the plank and tried to kill you, all of you! Do you really think that I would--?"

Peter raised his hands in surrender to the furious creature in his face. "I'm sorry, Wendy, sorry. But he said-- Maybe he stole one?"

Wendy was tempted to explain to him that kisses – or thimbles in his case – couldn't be stolen away, only given, but she knew from previous experience that it would be exhausting, and would yield no results. "I don't remember him doing anything like that --" She became silent, as she remembered the man's words: "-- otherwise I would never have given you my breath--"

Suddenly, the proverbial scales fell from her eyes. "Oh that wicked lying villain!" she hissed and Peter stepped back, surprised by the rage on Wendy's face, who began to quickly pace back and forth. "He always has to twist and to warp everything. He warned ME not to toy with HIM? That scoundrel! That … that … pirate! Ha! He should be very careful if we ever meet again, because I have a bone to pick with him!" Peter forgot his jealously and had to grin as he watched her tearing about. "He'll get an earful from me! Honey and wine! Really! He should have become poet and not pirate! He could have played all his evil games on young unsuspecting maidens captured by his poetry! He wanted to spare my sorry life, but his patience found its end? Don't make me laugh! He can call himself lucky if I don't scratch his arrogant eyes out the next time I meet him again! Or, even better, cut out his forked tongue! Twist the truth around until it's almost a lie – ooohh! He doesn't lie? Hah! None of his crew will follow me, so he sends that horrid excuse for a PARROT! That fiend! That _BEAST_!"

Peter was laughing openly by now and he wiped a tear out of his eye. "Why are you so mad?" he managed to get out before he lost himself to laughter again.

"Why I am so mad? Because this whole thing wasn't about a _thimble_, but about a – an artificial respiration. And he twisted his story around to make you believe that I gave him a thimble. That horrid cheat!"

The eternal boy was still bent with laughter, but when he saw Wendy like this before him – with flushed cheeks, blazing eyes and damp hair – he felt a strange unreal urge to take her in his arms and to soothe her. Biting his lips he distracted himself from this unusual impulse by asking her: "What is a, a, arti –whatsis reputation?"

"What is it?" she repeated, still angry with the pirate-captain. Peter nodded -- he really wanted to know -- and looked at her expectantly. "Artificial respiration. When you can't breathe, after you've gotten too much water in your lungs, for example, you blow your own breath into the other person's mouth, until that person starts to breath on their own again. The midwife had to do it for Michael when he was born. I was there."

"How do you do it?" Peter asked, really curious by now. He had never heard of such a practice before.

"You close the other person's nose, press your mouth on theirs, and blow," the girl explained, and blushed again. "And now you know where Hook got the idea to tell you that! A thimble! I can't believe it!"

The boy grinned broadly. "That sounds like fun." When he saw her dark look, he corrected himself quickly: "Of course, not when Hook is involved!"

Wendy sighed and tried to calm down, jaw still pushed forward, eyes still crackling. She met Peter's gaze. He was still amused, and as she saw the sparks dancing in his eyes, she felt her anger falling away. "Don't let's talk anymore about that old codfish!" she murmured. "I really have had enough of him for one day."

Peter grinned and bowed deeply. "At the very next opportunity, I will avenge your honor, Milady!"

The girl rolled her eyes and suddenly had to giggle. "My knight in shining armor!"

He made a gesture toward where the other boys and Tink had vanished. "Let's go home. I have to show you something."

Wendy grew excited. "Where is it?"

Peter smirked. "You'll never guess. Just come!" He took her hand in his, glanced at their entwined fingers, smiled with the slightest blush and pulled her along with him.

First they had to get to the hideout, then Wendy would have to get into something dry, and then he would speak with his friends about what the Green Masters told him. For some reason he felt an odd uncertainty and a chill in his spine. Something wasn't right, and as he heard the croak of the raven far above the trees, he knew that something was happening – something none of them would like.

TBC…


	6. The New Hideout New Dangers

**Chapter 5 - The New Hideout, New Dangers**

The children stood at the roots of the giant tree and, mouths agape, looking up its mighty trunk, which seemed to be made of redwood.

Peter had told them about his talk with the Green Masters and their warning, but even Tink couldn't fathom what the sylvan spirit meant. Yes, the earthquake and the brief flare over the volcano were distressing, but on the other hand they had no clue who could be the 'old one', who believes he can master the dark powers', nor what Dadga and Fagus meant by the coming cold – nor the 'written words'. John had an idea that it might refer to a prophecy, but where were they supposed to search for it? Peter decided that they must first visit the new underground home, where Wendy could change into something dry, and that then – maybe – they could think about the warnings they were given.

So it happened that the children reached the new hideout, and stared up, amazed at the extraordinary, breathtaking tree. Its tall, thick straight trunk rose high above the other trees, where the branches began, so that next to it, all the others seemed small, almost saplings. A warm, resinous scent emanated from its trunk, and as Wendy carefully laid one hand on it, she thought she could feel life pulsing under her palm. The red-brown bark was almost soft, fibrous, and – strangest of all - warm. The girl glanced again up to the mighty crown spread far above her. "This … this is incredible!" she whispered reverentially. Peter, who stood beside her, gave her thoughtful smile. He knew that Wendy would like it. But as he met her eyes, he quickly lowered his own. He knew that his cheeks would begin to warm again, and it would embarrass him.

"Peter, isn't that the Never-Tree?" Nibs asked, clearly impressed.

The eternal boy nodded. "Aye, the first tree in Neverland. The fairies say that it holds all the powers of Neverland," he grinned at Tink, winking, "but you know the fairies: Always claiming mystical secrets, even when there are none." His friends laughed among each other, and Tink, offended, turned her head away.

"Peter? Is this--" Wendy began and the boy nodded.

"Yep, our new home. Under her roots, the Never-Tree carved a cavern into the ground. Come and see!" His hand gripped hers and pulled her around the vast trunk. A dozen grown men would have had to stretch to encircle it with their arms. "This new place is bigger than the old one, and now we can all have our own area to sleep in. There is also a great common room, and place for a pantry. I've already put up some supplies," he bragged, obviously excited.

The other children followed him and Wendy, and watched carefully as he slipped into a small recess in the trunk, bent down to the ground and groped for a knothole. Seconds later, a thick hand-woven rope seemed to fall from nowhere, and the boy tugged on it. A small trapdoor opened at his feet, revealing a hole in the earth. He reached for a torch on a shelf beside the hidden doorway, lit it with flint and steel also stored there, and disappeared, calling, "Follow me!"

Tink had already flown down into the passageway. In the light of the torch, Wendy recognized a bamboo ladder, dropped her bundle through the entrance, and started to climb down, since her fairy dust had been washed away by the tidal wave. The other children came immediately behind her. "The last one in has to pull the small root to close the door," Peter's voice instructed.

"Aye!" Slightly called back. Unseen by the boys, two skeaghshees slipped out of folds in the trunk and quickly erased all their tracks.

Wendy reached the bottom, bent down, picked-up her bundle and wanted to turn around, but felt Peter's hand over her eyes. "Don't look yet!" he whispered. "Let me light the candles first."

Even though he whispered, she recognized his pride and need to surprise her. "Alright," she murmured back, "if you wish it!" and kept her eyes closed as he vanished. "Stay where you are!" she called to the boys, because she didn't want to spoil Peter's surprise. She could hear him moving back and forth, and Tink's soft jingle as she helped him.

"Okay, look!" The boy's voice was right by her ear, and she was startled by his breath on her cheek. Doing as he told her, she opened her eyes and slowly turned around, her breath suddenly catching in her throat.

The underground cave was enormous, now bathed in the golden light of many candles. The mighty roots of the Never-Tree crisscrossed the walls and roof, providing a sturdy and secure ceiling above. The candles also illumined the floor, covered with Indian carpets and furs, the coarse table (which Wendy recognized from the old place), the chairs made of bamboo and branches and, finally, Peter's throne decorated with feathers and furs, like new again. (That a boy had throne didn't seem strange to her, even not during her first stay. He was, after all, the Prince of Neverland, even if he didn't realize it.) Several smaller alcoves led from the common room, and in one of them, Wendy saw another table and chair, as well as a fireplace with a tripod and a kettle. Across the entrance to this alcove hung a convolved blanket, which served as a kind of door.

In the other alcoves, she spied beds, made from the same material as the chairs, and filled with dried grass, covered with blankets and furs, and there were even pillows - sewn from material Peter had 'found' on the _Jolly Roger_.

The candles were displayed in candlesticks, also 'souvenirs' from the pirate-ship. Along one wall stood a chest where the girl discovered toys, fabrics and weapons, as well as ropes and more blankets. Both of the treasure chests he had once stolen from Hook – not from greed but for fun – were gone. The hideout could only be described as very … cozy.

"Oh, Peter!" Wendy whispered and looked with shiny eyes around her. "It's, it's … beautiful!" The eternal boy smiled proudly. He had hoped that Wendy would like it, and when he saw her expression, he was relieved. Why, he didn't know.

The other boys looked around with the same expression as the girl. "Peter, this is crackerjack!" Nibs called, a word he'd picked up from Mr. Darling and loved using.

John whistled in surprise. "However did you manage to get this heavy furniture down here?"

Peter gave him a sly look. "Tiger-Lily and some of the men in her village helped me." Promptly the eldest of the Darling-sons blushed, which earned him Peter's grin.

"The Indians know your hideout?" Michael blurted out, not believing it.

"Of course. We're friends now. I don't know how I should have managed without their help the first days after I took you all back to London."

"What do you mean?" Wendy asked, sitting in one of the chairs, placing her bundle beside her.

Peter bit his lips. "Hook and his men hunted me again and again. Not only by day, but at night, too. Sure, I'm faster than they are because I can fly, but I couldn't return home, because Hook knew where it was, and he had it watched constantly. They seemed to be everywhere. He knows every inch of the island and tracked me down again and again." This must have been dreadful for him to admit. He sighed. "Finally I had to ask for shelter from the redskins. Chief Rain-in-the-Face and Great Panther, their medicine man, took me in, and I stayed with them a few days. Hook doesn't dare attack the village because they outnumber the pirates, and the village is too far away and out of range for his cannons, even if he moved the ship to this side of Neverland."

He paused as if remembering that evil time, and frowned before he continued: "After that, he backtracked, but still had the hideout watched, for he knew that I had to return there. So I asked the Indians to distract the pirates by attacking them. They did more than this. They managed to chase Hook's men away and my way was free. In the meantime I had discovered the cave beneath the Never-Tree – I mean, the fairies showed it to me," he corrected himself as Tink jingled in mild protest. "When Hook returned with reinforcements, I was already gone with everything that was still intact."

"Whatcha mean, intact?" Curly asked.

Peter took a deep breath. "Hook forced himself into the hideout, got his treasure chests and destroyed almost everything." A sad expression fell over his face. "He shredded the blankets and pillows, smashed my throne and the most of the chairs. The marks of his hook are still on the great table over there." He pointed at the wooden surface and his friends saw the deep scores in it. Peter sighed. "The tracks of his claws were everywhere." He met Wendy's compassionate gaze. For a moment he looked at her, then he straightened his back. "I took my stuff and left. By the time Hook returned, I was gone." He started to grin. "You should have heard him when he saw I'd escaped him again. His roar could be heard for miles!"

The children began to laugh. They all could well imagine how the pirate-captain had cursed. Tootles looked wide-eyed at his leader. "You act like it's nothing! If it was me, I would have taken my heels and had run."

Peter smirked. "This is my island and no-one will ever drive me away!"

"And he really has no clue where the new hideout is?" Nibs asked.

Peter shook his head. "He passed by the Never-Tree several times, mumbles something about 'those huge dimensions,' and walks away." The children had to giggle, for Peter imitated the pirate's voice so exactly that you'd think the buccaneer was really there. They looked at him admiringly, which had his chest swelling with pride. No, nothing had really changed since they had left the magical island. "Just look around. After all, you're finally home!" he told his friends and took Wendy's hand. "Come on, you have your own room! I thought it safer to have you down here, instead in a Wendy-house outside, where Hook might could kidnap you again."

Wendy blinked, touched by his concern. She followed him into a separate alcove just a tad bigger than the other alcoves off the common room. A bed, wider than the other ones, stood there, with two pillows, a skin as sheet and a fluffy Indian blanket. Beside the bed was a little nightstand with a candlestick (another souvenir from Hook's ship) and a small chest. Another blanket was flipped above the entrance so that Wendy could drop it to be alone if she wanted. Another woven carpet lay on the floor. It was snug inside the alcove, and the scent of the red-brown roots lingered sweetly in the air. Wendy beheld it all with shining eyes. Her aunt would call the alcove 'primitive and shocking; certainly not fit for a young lady', but in her eyes, it was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. Yes, there was no water closet, no electric lights, but it didn't matter. Here, deep down under the Never-Tree, this snug cave was her home. Here were no contradictions, no remonstrance, no incomprehensible rules. This was her world, and she was more than happy to be back.

Her gaze rested on the bed. It was made of bamboo as well, and the material of the pillow was soft cotton, filled with feathers as one, which pierced through the cotton, proved. It looked inviting and—

"Do you like it?" Peter interrupted her thoughts and she met his uncertain gaze.

"I love it!" the girl whispered. "It's as if it was made for me."

The boy nodded, a little bit embarrassed. "That's true!" Wendy stared at him and he added: "I mean it really is made for you."

The girl felt the tears spring into her eyes. "You… you made this room for me?" He nodded, his face flushed. "But … you didn't know if I would return!" Peter shrugged and mumbled something like "something I hoped." Then his eyes grew wide as Wendy bent forward and he felt her lips on his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered at his ear, before she stepped to the bed and let herself flop backwards on it with a joyful yelp.

The boy was thunderstruck. Had she really given him a thimble? No, a _kiss!_ he corrected himself. Where her lips touched his cheek, it prickled -- and something strange started to spread through his whole body until there was that odd power in him again, warm, making his heart race. It grew from deep inside of him and burst forth in a cheerful crow, before he followed Wendy onto the bed, and a moment later a wild pillow fight had begun. Of course the other children joined them immediately and it didn't stop until the first feathers flew through the underground home.

-----------------------------

The seagulls shrieked as they circuited above the high masts of the Jolly Roger. The wind had picked up, and it now tore at the black flag with the skull and crossed swords beneath (Hook's own emblem). It was warm, almost too warm, even for the tropical waters of Neverland, and the pirates had taken off their shirts and – some of them – their shoes. They were an odd sight now, especially Billy Jukes, who truly was, every inch of him, tattooed. He sat in the shadow of the rail and smoked his old pipe, while Cecco sat beside him and reviewed his mate's tattoos (white men certainly did some crazy things!), listening to the stories that came with each one. Across the deck sat Robert Mullins carving a small figure into driftwood, found this morning on shore.

Suddenly, the three men heart a tap from above, like a hammer on wood, and looked up. Nothing. Shrugging they returned to their work – or recreation, in this case – until the noise sounded again. And this time it was nearer and clearer. Cursing they glanced up again – and paled. And then Robert Mullins let out a deafening scream.

Hook sat at his desk sipping his wine. He had changed from his wet clothes to lighter breeches and an open shirt and stared into nothing, lost in thought. His hair hadn't been combed again after it dried, and hung in wild curls down his back.

He was angry – certainly not an unusual mood for him – but this time, something else gnawed at him. He reviewed the past weeks.

First, there was this new escape by the boy. Brimstone and gall, he had lost count how often he had the boy in deep water, and the brat evaded his fate time and again! And after that episode with the crocodile and the stolen ship, the pirate's hate and obsession had increased exponentially.

The second was Wendy's attack. _Hell and damnation!_ he had risked his own life to save her! And for precious moments, she didn't look at him with fear and anger, but with shining eyes – a memorable glimpse of how she had looked at him during their first meeting, as she had sat at his dining-table. She had been so fragile, so… so vulnerable as he held her in his arms and had tried to soothe her after she had almost drowned. For a moment, he had felt a genuine warmth toward her, a sweet urge to protect her, completely atypical for him. Why he had felt this way, he didn't dare to ask himself, especially after their history together. And then she attacks him like a fury! That damn little bitch! _Again_ she had had him wrapped around her little finger and then she really did give him -- a kick! And why did it bother him so much? She was, after all, nothing more than a girl, a child, and he loathed children! But -- for a moment -- he had seen something else in her. For just a moment—

His fist hit the desk, and a crunch and the liquid on his hand proved that the goblet he held hadn't survived his outburst. Cursing he looked at his hand and the shirt sleeve, now wet with wine, while the rest of the drink splashed over the desk, so that he hastily moved his documents and charts to safety.

Wraiths and wreckage! All this because of this little devil with the face of an angel! She would pay dearly this time, he would show her no mercy! And if the whole ocean came ashore, he would watch her drown and laugh!

He rang for Smee and ordered him to clean the mess on the desk, while he changed in another shirt – the third one this day. Grumbling, he slipped into the silk and shoved the shirttail into his breeches, which wasn't easy with only one hand.

"May I help ye, Sir?" Smee asked, and Hook threw him a dark glance, which fell finally to the bo'sun's winestained fingers.

"Thank you, Mr. Smee, but I don't wish to change into the fourth!" The old Irishman frowned, uncomprehending, shrugged, and continued in his work.

Swearing under his breath the captain tucked the last edges into his waistband and sighed. Those cursed little love-birds weren't his only problem. There still was the matter of the earthquake. Where had _that _come from? This question now occupied him more urgently. After he returned and inspected the entire ship, finally convinced that there was no serious damage from the tidal wave, he had asked himself this question over and over again.

For many minutes, he had inspected the volcano with his spyglass, looking for signs of an immanent eruption, but there were none. If this was the first indication of an impending eruption, then the island was in danger – and he couldn't care less about it. Tomorrow he would fill the barrels with fresh water and stock the food supply, and if this mountain really did decide to throw up its ugly contents, he would set sail and put a safe distance between this cursed island and his ship! Perhaps this condemned mountain would kill the brat and his so-called friends, and Hook would finally be free – even if it rankled him that he wouldn't have any part in Pan's demise.

But still, he doubted that the earthquake was a result of volcanic activity. He lived long enough in Neverland to recognize the first signs of that sort of trouble. And there _was_ trouble in the air, of that he was certain!

In this moment, a horrified scream pierced his thoughts, and Hook turned. _What the devil--? Mullins!_ He identified this voice immediately. If that superstitious blighter had seen a black bird and gone wiggy about some 'dark omen', it would be the captain's last straw. Mullins was a gifted carpenter, but his superstitions drove Hook crazy.

Cursing savagely, he grabbed his pistol and stormed out of his quarters. Smee followed, concerned for Mullins.

Hook appeared on the bridge and looked down to the lower aft-deck. Frowning, he saw his whole crew standing together and looking straight up along the mainmast while they murmured to each other in low voices. This was odd! He cocked his pistol with his hook and quietly descended the stairs, his blue eyes searching in the riggings. As the crew perceived his presence, they gave him relieved glances, which made him even more suspicious. Normally, his men weren't relieved when he came with a ready pistol. He led his crew with a firm hand, to say the least.

"Cap'n! Look t'ere!" Mullins said with a hollow voice, as Hook reached him. The carpenter was ashen beneath his sunbrowned skin, and fright made his eyes big as saucers. Giving the man a hard, warning glare, Hook followed the outstretched finger and then his own eyes widened.

There, on the yard of the mainsail, sat a small figure, between one and two feet tall. It had a scruffy grey beard and wore trousers in an indefinable color that once could have been blue, mismatched socks, old black shoes with buckles, a yellow shirt and a torn doublet, and a red woolen sailor's hat on his head. He looked like a little pirate. He smoked a pipe, and as he met Hook's startled gaze, he lifted a small hammer and thumped it against the yard.

The pirate-captain didn't tolerate mystical creatures at his ship – and Neverland was full of them. He chased every one of them away, because the most of them were Pan's friends and he knew that they spied for him. Or that they came to play tricks on him and his men. But this one was an exception. No seaman on the world would dare to chase him away – not even James Hook.

The commander of the _Jolly Roger_ swallowed, as his anticipation about coming trouble turned into certainty because of the appearance of the nyxx: "The Klabautermann!"

As soon as Hook had said this, frenetic murmuring swept the crew again. The Klabautermann – the water nyxx -- was a kind of sprite, and every ship had its own. Most of the time they were invisible, but often heard. They tested the condition of a ship, and for this they used their hammers and – if they were in a jolly mood – they played little jokes on the crew, but nothing dangerous or nasty. Every seaman knew about the invisible bilkers, but no one would ever dare to scold them or speak badly about them, for they could look into the future, warn the crew of the ship they inhabited whenever danger loomed. A merry and diligent creature, with an expert understanding of most watercraft, and an irrepressible musical talent, they also rescue sailors washed overboard. But despite of the positive attributes, there is one omen associated with their presence: no member of a ship blessed by his presence shall ever set eyes on him.

_He only ever became visible to the crew of a soon to be doomed ship._

James Hook knew all this very well, and so he took the appearance of the Klaubautermann very seriously. "What message do you bring, Sir?" he called up to him, and the little creature took another deep drag on his pipe and blowing the smoke into the breeze before bending down and looking straight into the captain's face.

Bottomless green-blue eyes, like the open sea, were fixed on him, and Hook got a queasy feeling. "Ice will freeze the sea," the little fellow sang in a strange voice, "The ship will never be free. Lay enmity at bay, And darkness will obey. Return will the waves, And again the ship is safe!" With a pop, he vanished, only the smoke from his pipe lingered a second longer in the air, before the wind blew it away.

It was deadly silent aboard the _Jolly Roger_, only the sound of the flag snapping in the wind overhead. No one dared to raise his voice – not even Hook.

Finally he cleared his throat. "Mr. Smee?" He didn't need to look around to know that the bo'sun followed him when he had left his cabin. By now he took it for granted, like the behavior of a loyal dog.

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"Make the longboats ready. We go ashore to replenish our stock. Two boats be enough to fill all water barrels. Any water still left aboard, you will empty into my bathtub and the tubs in the washhouse. Make ready four other longboats for fresh fruits and game, and the last one will take several men for the hunt. I want to be ready if disaster comes."

One of the men cleared his throat. "Why not break loose of 'ere now and search--?"

Blue eyes snapped toward him, hook at the end of the captain's arm twitched impatiently, and the man's mouth clapped shut, lucky to be still alive. The captain looked around him. "Do you gentlemen have any further questions regarding my instructions?"

Within seconds the pirates hastened toward the longboats, hurrying to fulfill their commander's order.

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Sighing, Wendy closed her eyes and shut out the noises of the boys who frolicked about her. It had certainly been an eventful day.

After the pillow fight, she had bathed in one of Neverland's warm springs to wash away the sand and salt, then she had washed her nightgown and had put on the light summer dress she had brought with her. She lay now in the warm sun, trying to forget what happened that morning. The discovery of their new home, and later, the pillow fight, had distracted her for a while, but now it all returned, and each detail played over and over again in her mind: her fight with Hook, the realization that he was protecting her as he had caught her near the water-edge, the tidal wave and the horror of drowning, and then her recovery with the help of the pirate-captain.

Never before she had been that confused or afraid and – for whatever reason – he had soothed her. For that strange, wonderful, peculiar moment she had felt safe in his presence, sheltered and cared for.

And then Peter had arrived and the fragile, tenuous moment, laden with unknowable portent, had burst like a soap bubble, and Peter's life was again threatened. Suddenly her tall blue-eyed rescuer had become the cruel and vengeful buccaneer again, an enemy to be fought and who would kill without a thought.

But for that long magical moment he had been … different. For a long moment—

"Oooooh!" Wendy suddenly sat up as water dropped on her and woke her from her thoughts. Above her soared the eternal boy and grinned from one ear to the other, holding a large flat leaf where he'd carried the water.

"Wakey, wakey!" he teased her and burst out laughing as she took her still-damp nightgown and swung it at him.

"YOU!" she shouted, half enraged, half amused. "Because of you I am wet all over again, Peter Pan!"

Grinning, he boy folded his arms and sat cross-legged in the air, just out of reach. "I thought you might be getting warm lying there in the sun and so--"

"Come down there!" Wendy snorted and stamped her foot.

Peter shrugged. "As you wish." In the next moment he had taken her about the waist and lifted her up in the air with him, heading toward the lake. Wendy knew him too well and started to yelp, "Don't you dare--!"

It was then they heard a hoarse croak, and both children looked up. There, in one of the trees, sat a large black bird, its feathers shimmering black-green in the sunlight. "The raven!" Peter whispered; his prank forgotten.

The girl remembered. "The same raven you met during your talk with the Green Masters?"

The boy nodded. After his report, they had all talked about this and the earthquake, but since no one had any idea what it meant, they decided to let it alone until something else happened. But the appearance of the raven reminded Peter forcefully of the unnerving meeting of several hours ago. Taking Wendy with him, Peter approached the tree and paused in front of the bird. It looked at him with dark knowing eyes and shook its feathers. The girl didn't take her eyes off the animal, wondering at its intentions. "Its eyes are most intelligent," she murmured and the raven croaked. Wendy could have sworn that it looked annoyed. "Do you understand me?" she asked hesitantly, but the bird only glared at her before it turned its attention toward her escort.

It bristled its feathers and turned its glare to the skies and back to the earth. Peter followed the bird's gaze and frowned slightly. "The sky is too blue," he said with wonder. "It is bluer than I've ever seen it."

Wendy glanced up as well and lifted a delicate brow. "It looks like the sky in London on a clear, cold winter day."

Curious, Peter turned his attention toward her. "You mean at a day when it is colder than up in the mountains here? When the white, thick rain stays at the ground?"

She stared at him. "Peter," she asked gently, "don't you know what snow is?"

He blinked several seconds and grinned. "Of course. It's the white stuff up in the mountains. And I saw it when I visited you the first time – and when Tink almost died." He shuddered. "It really is cold!"

Wendy remembered the time she had been tied to the main-mast of the _Jolly Roger_ and they were sure that Peter had died. In truth, he was mourning for Tinker Bell, who had drunk the poison meant for him. Only his fierce belief in fairies and support of all people in the world who still had a spark of childhood in their hearts had saved the tiny creature. During those minutes it had begun to snow in Neverland, and dark clouds had covered the normally blue skies. For, you see, Neverland and the boy are linked in a special way, and desperate stress and danger -- as well as his absence -- changed the weather of the magical island dramatically.

But right now, Peter was well and playful as ever, but the skies did look strange – a certain sign that the weather was about to change, if you were observing this in Wendy's world. The raven croaked again and cocked its head. In its eyes, something gleamed, something like compassion, or sadness, then the animal spread its wings and flew away toward the thin clouds, leaving only one large black feather behind.

Wendy, still on Peter's arm, stretched her hand toward it and plucked it from the leaves. It was black as coal and reflected the light like a small deep lake in a forest. "Keep it," the boy said soberly. "Dagda said that ravens are messengers of warning. Could be this feather will warn any one who wants to harm you that it won't be as easy as they think."

The girl smiled and pressed the feather carefully to her chest. "If I put it in my hair, I'll look like an Indian again," she chuckled. "Almost, if you overlook the white skin, the light hair, the blue eyes--"

"-- the dress, bare feet and--" Peter added, peering down on his nose, as she frowned.

"And the fact that I am wet all over, thanks to you, Master Pan!" His careless laugh returned, and he took her to the ground and placed her carefully on her feet. She curtsied. "Thank you, Sir."

Peter bowed. "You're welcome, Wendy-Lady." A dim rumble of thunder rolled toward them from nowhere, and the two friends glanced startled toward the sky, but it still appeared peaceful. Instead, a light shiver ran through the ground, and instinctively, Wendy closed the distance to Peter for safety; one of his arms slipped around her shoulders while he reached for his dagger. His clear blue eyes looked warily about, searching the shadows for any sign of danger.

The other boys came running, Tink leading and jingling loudly. "I know!" he replied, as the boys asked nervously what happened now. "Something's up! And I think it's time we found out more about it."

A shot rang out, and Peter whirled, stepping in front of Wendy, his dagger lifted. Another shot came from further away, and they all crouched nervously below the level of the underbrush. Peter's eyes narrowed. "Hook!" he hissed between his teeth. He jerked his head toward the shadows in the opposite direction of the shots, and his friends obeyed. Wendy quickly retrieved her nightgown and blanket, threw them over her shoulder, and followed her brothers, holding her skirts up to run with more speed.

Their leader backed up slowly, his eyes never leaving the direction, from which a third shot sounded. "They're hunting!" he murmured as he reached his friends.

"Who are they hunting?" John asked; his eyes frightened but wrathful as well. If this villain was chasing Tiger-Lily, then—

"I think he's stocking his ship," Peter murmured. "That's strange! He restocked only two days ago!"

"Could he know something we don't?" Nibs mumbled, and his leader nodded slowly.

"Dunno. But if Hook knows something about what's causing the ground to shake, I think we'd better find out as well." He bit his lip and took a deep breath. "Slightly? You know the way home?" The second in command nodded, his self-assurance returning. "Then be sure you all reach it unharmed. Tink? You're their eyes and ears. Make certain that they don't get in the pirates' way. I've a visit to make."

Wendy took his arm. "You're not visiting Hook, are you?"

Peter grinned. "Nah! The old codfish isn't very good company. No, I think I'll visit the mermaids. If someone really knows what's happening, it's them!" He flashed the girl a quick smile, ignoring the worry in her eyes, for it made him uneasy. "Don't be afraid. They're my friends. I'll be back as soon as I can." With that, he took to the air and was out of sight a moment later.

----------------------------------

There are four places in Neverland you really don't want to visit. The first two we've mentioned already: the Black Castle and the _Jolly Roger_ – that if, if you aren't tired of living, or if you have a soft spot for pirates and manage to get the captain's attention in a positive way -- for both of these belonged to Hook.

The third is the Mount of no Return. It reeks of brimstone and ancient destruction, and like every active volcano, you never know when it will decide to show its power.

The fourth location is Mermaid's Lagoon, as also has been mentioned before. But, as with everything, there were exceptions. In the case of the mermaids, there were three. Beside Peter and Hook, the only other one who dared to visit these creatures was Great Panther, the Indian shaman. No, he didn't understand their language, but he was able to communicate with them in sign language – and then from a safe distance. The female water-creatures accepted him in a way, because they saw his wisdom and his great tolerance for all inhabitants of Neverland. And he was, for a mortal, sensitive to the magic around him. So Great Panther and Hook were the only mortal men who could be found from time to time in the lagoon.

Peter was often there – and welcome --for a reason. Mermaids, you must remember, are not just half fish, but also half human, with heart and feelings and all such dangerous attributes, a complete dichotomy. The human part could love and mourn, feel joy and hate like every other human being. But the aquatic part of them cooled every emotion, so they were always uncertain about their feelings. And this quandary was the reason for their danger. Peter, of course, didn't know anything about this, and even if someone told him, he wouldn't care. He was completely unprejudiced, and confronted the mermaids in his own carefree, innocent way, which the mermaids really liked.

When he had arrived as a small child on the island, they had taught him to swim and to dive. They had cared for him, rescued him when he got too close to the water's edge at the cliffs and had fallen in. His open spirit had touched their very human hearts, and they assisted him wherever they could. They spied on at the _Jolly Roger_; they kept their ears open for any news in Neverland, and, vital in this instance, they shared their magical knowledge with him. Whenever he needed an answer for mystical things that even the fairies couldn't explain, he turned to the mermaids and they told him what he needed to know.

This time was no exception. As Peter neared the lagoon, he saw the first signs of growing fog over the water's surface – something he only saw on the late evenings, for the water and air were usually the same temperature. So he was on full alert as he landed among the rocks and searched for his friends. Normally, by day, they played in the water, or lay on the shore, or – their favorite – preened themselves in the calm water's reflection. But now there was no trace of them. He peered around himself, recognizing that the seagulls and the crabs, all the everyday things that happened near a calm sea, were missing, as well as the dolphins, who loved to play with the mermaids.

Something was very wrong.

Loosening his belt, he lifted his pipe to his lips and started to play the sweet summoning melody – his own unique song that they could hear from miles away. It wasn't long before the ripples were heading his way and long shadows under the surface came nearer. Peter replaced the pipe, knelt down at the water's edge and waited until the first, red-haired head broke the surface. A second and third one followed immediately, stern, pale – almost silver -- with black, transverse eyes. They glanced warily about them before they approached the boy.

Bending forward, he greeted them, surprised to find them uneasy. Any other time, nothing could frighten the mermaids, but now he saw something like fear in their beautiful faces, their eyes large and black. And that made him uneasy. Before he could ask them anything, they began to talk. For you and me, their language would sound like clicks and squeaks, but Peter had learned it very early, and managed to build up a vocabulary they understood.

One of them carefully took his hand, her claws scratching his skin, but Peter wasn't afraid of her -- they would never harm him. But what she told him confirmed his fears. The others joined in, and Peter had to concentrate to understand all of them. They all told him essentially the same story, and it made him shiver. "Are you sure?" he whispered and the one who reached him at first nodded in an almost human way, placing her webbed fingers gently on his cheek.

At last wary and alarmed, Peter stared at her, for merfolk avoided contact with mortals, and this behavior told him more than their warnings:

They were afraid.

Not only for themselves, but for him as well.

Frowning, Peter took her cold hand in his and smiled reassuringly. "Thank you," he murmured. "I'll be on watch." He stood and moved away, lost in thoughts. He didn't see the sad looks of his aquatic friends, and as one of the usually cold mermaids shed a pearly tear, the usually smiling dolphins started to weep with her.

--------------------------

A short time later at the underground home, Peter took a deep breath when he saw the small living-knot holes in the roots shining with warm lights, but saw no gnomes. This was odd. They were usually quite busy in the late afternoon, and you could find them everywhere. Could they have felt the changes in Neverland, too?

Sighing, he opened the invisible entrance and slipped through it. Warmth greeted him, and the golden light of candles, as well as the enchanting smell of baking bread. As he reached the ground, he met the glances of the boys and of Wendy, who came out of the makeshift kitchen. Tink sat on the table near a candle and cocked her head. "Any problems?" he asked and Nibs shook his head.

"Nope. No pirates."

"Good. At last something didn't go wrong." He went to his throne and sat down. He could feel their eyes on him, but he didn't know how to begin. The mermaids had said so much that it made him dizzy. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and glanced up – directly into Wendy's sweet face, encouraging and soothing in one. He didn't know how or why, but because of her soft touch he found the words he'd been searching for.

"The mermaids told me they feel a darkness coming over Neverland. They told me that the island resists, and that's the reason the ground shakes. Something -- or someone -- has come to Neverland, someone who brings sorrow and misery. They can feel it in the waves and see it in the stars." His eyes dropped to his dusty feet. "They said that soon there will be no stars to talk to, no moon or sun to light the skies. They--" he took a deep breath again, "they said that they're leaving Neverland and are going to search for shelter in the open oceans." He bit his lips. "They've never done this before."

The boys and the girl had listened with wide eyes and growing suspicions. Tink chimed, and it sounded shocked and wary – even to the ears of the Darlings. Peter watched her settle down on the left armrest of his throne. "Yes, I know," he sighed. "When the mermaids leave Neverland, then something awful is coming," he translated.

"But _what_ is coming?" Wendy asked. "If they told you these things, then they must have given an explanation as well!"

Peter smiled -- Wendy really was quick! "They fear the coming darkness. Mermaids need the stars to navigate. If they were only fish, they would only need the circle of the world to find their way."

"You said once that mermaids knew all kinds of dark magic. Maybe they know more than they told you," Wendy pressed softly, and several of the boys nodded.

Peter shook his head. "They wouldn't hide anything from me. They're really afraid. One of them even touched my cheek."

Nibs, Curly and Tootles gasped, and the Darling's looked at them questioningly. "They never do anything like that," Peter informed them and leaned back. "Something real weird is happening. And they're not the only ones. Hook seems to know it, too. There was a reason he was hunting this afternoon."

"You mean, the old codfish knows more than we do?" Slightly asked, and Peter made a face.

"Not for long. Tomorrow I'll pay him a visit." He met Wendy's look of alarm and smiled. "Don't worry. I'll stay out of reach. But if Hook really knows about something, I think I should know it as well." He grinned and suddenly his mood lifted. "This could be a great adventure!"

Later that evening, the children went to bed, tummies full of Wendy's delicious dinner of fruit, fresh-baked bread and pemmican – dried meat Peter had gotten from the Indians only three days before. After they had eaten and helped Wendy to do the washing up, the girl told them a bedtime story, which even caught the attention of the night gnomes, who came down and listened eagerly. Then Wendy, all mother now, chased them to bed, bid the gnomes goodnight and sat awhile with Peter on one of the thick furs near the oven, musing with hushed voices about what had happened.

"We should find out what the Green Masters meant by 'written words'," the girl said.

Peter nodded and pulled one of the other furs nearer to them, wrapping it around Wendy and him. (For some reason, the temperature underground seemed cool.) "Maybe John is right and there really is a prophecy." He grinned suddenly. "Hey, a prophecy about me. This is great!"

Wendy stifled a laugh and slapped him gently on the arm. "Come down off your high horse, Peter Pan!"

The boy smiled and winked at her, before he turned serious again. "We should ask Great Panther. He is the best man in Neverland to ask if it comes to prophecies."

She smirked, "O happy day for John."

A short laugh escaped Peter. "I can imagine him: red as Tiger-Lily's warpaint and stuttering like Smee after a bottle rum." Both friends laughed, and from one of the alcoves an irritated voice called.

"Can't you two shut up out there?" At the same moment, an irritated jingling came from one of the bigger knotholes, where Tinker Bell had her apartment. Couldn't those two be silent at all?

Still chuckling, the boy and girl stood, and Peter handed the girl the thick fur. "Take it with you. It seems to be cold tonight and the earth won't keep it all out."

Wendy took it and gave him a grateful smile, whispering a soft: "Good night, Peter."

He smiled shyly. "Good night, Wendy-Lady."

Before the girl vanished into her alcove, she glanced back one time. He was slowly walking to his own bed, but stopped when she whispered: "Peter?"

He looked back at her expectantly: "Yes?"

"It _IS_ good to be back – here – with you."

He blushed and bowed elegantly. "Until tomorrow!"

Smiling, she stepped into the little underground-chamber and dropped the blanket over the entrance. The little candle she had lit after dinner still burned, and Wendy changed quickly into the warmer nightgown she had brought with her as well. She slipped into the bed and blew out the candle, sighing with contentment.

Across the main room, Peter laid his pipe and dagger aside and snuggled into his furs. He was tired, something that didn't happen often. Yes, of course he needed sleep after a long, playful day, full of adventures, but now his limbs seemed to grow heavier by the minute. Yawning widely he rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, and let himself go to sleep.

Silence spread over the underground home. And as sleep claimed all children and the little fairy, outside, the first snow fell softly.

TBC…


	7. A Sort of Shopping Trip

Hi, dear readers,

thank you so much for the nice reviews. It really helps me writing the story and I am glad that you like it so much.

Finally we are getting into action again and there will come a lot of it, as well as new characters, soon.

Have fun and pleeeeeaaaase review.

Regards

Lywhn

**Chapter 6 – A Sort of Shopping Trip**

Tink blinked rapidly looking through the tiny hole at the foot of the tree, then rubbed her eyes, but the view didn't change. The area around the mighty Never-Tree was covered in snow. It glistened in the bright sunlight and a soft cool wind chased several flakes from the branches to the ground. Somewhere nearby, a tree unloaded its fluffy cargo in a small avalanche, as the quiet _whoosh_ proved. A cold zephyr whirled about her scantily clad little body, and shivering, she retreated into the sheltering roots of the underground-home. She darted to her little apartment and bundled up in a warm dress and cape made of cocoon, and long leggings, woven from milkweed. Then she put on her slippers and took a shawl out, also made of milkweed.

Tink hated the cold. It tormented the animals, killed the flowers and froze the lakes. No, fairies definitely didn't like the cold. Finally feeling warm, Tink stormed toward the alcove where Peter lay in blissful sleep, and jingled loudly at the lump under the skins to wake him up.

After several moments, the bundle of furs and blankets on the bed moved and a golden shock of hair appeared from beneath. "Why the fuss, Tink?" he mumbled and his fairy-friend spoke to him like a living water-fall. Peter barely listened, nodded, and yawned. "That's all?" he asked, still drowsy, and snuggled under the blankets again, ready to go back to sleep.

That did it. With a clanging that was probably heard at the other end of the island, she dragged the fur and blanket off the bed and yanked at the boy's sandy-golden locks. Peter started up. "Ouch!" he screamed. "Tink, are you insane?"

The fairy gestured and jangled again. By the light of the stars, didn't the boy understand what had happened outside?

Rubbing his head – damn, his tiny friend was really strong – Peter shot her a dark look until, finally, her words sank in. "It snowed?" he asked, and Tinker Bell threw her tiny hands up in frustration. Wasn't that what she'd been telling him for the last several minutes?

Waking between one second on the next, the boy was up and bolted to ladder, ignoring the sleepy voices of his friends and a surprised Slightly, who shuffled out of his alcove, hair askew, mildly alarmed. Peter flew to ground level and opened the hidden door. Icy air hit his bare skin, making him shiver, but he took the time to have a good look around.

It was impossible! Neverland was covered in snow – something he'd never seen, for the snow always melted away as soon as he returned from a trip to the other world and neared the island. He took a deep breath and bit his lip. His surroundings looked entirely new to him: the trees looked as if someone had come in the night and powdered them thickly with confectioner's sugar, and the dark firs seemed to wear white coats, the lush grass had vanished and the coppices hung full with the glittering mass. The golden rays of the sun broke through the boughs and conjured diamonds in the snow. Near the bank stood several deer, glancing warily one at the small figure in the roots of the Never-Tree.

The chill was starting to seep into Peter, and finally, shivering like an aspen leaf, he shut the door and returned to the warm underground home, where all his friends now stood, looking curiously at him. As soon as he touched the floor, they surrounded him shouting their questions.

The news hit like a cannonball. Snow in Neverland – and Peter was still here, and healthy! Well, that was certainly strange! But, of course, the questions 'how' and 'why' were soon forgotten, because the other children knew very well from their time in London that snow meant something special:

Fun!

"Snowball fight!"

"Snowman!"

"Sledding!"

"And with what?"

"We'll find a way."

"Ice-skating!"

"Tootles, we have no skids for the sled, and where can we get blades for ice-skating?"

"Shut up, Nibs!"

Peter grinned as he heard the banter. This was how it should be. His friends were back! He could share fun and adventures with them. And, more important, he wasn't alone anymore. He felt a presence behind him and turned around to find Wendy at his side. For a long unacknowledged moment, he forgot his teasing friends and could only see the girl. These new, strange sensations flooded him whenever she looked at him, like water coming through a breaking dam, and he swallowed. "G - g - good morning!" he murmured and realized, shocked, that he stuttered. That never happened before!

His friend gave him one of her brilliant smiles. "Good morning to you, too, Peter." She nodded toward the ceiling. "Is it really that cold outside?"

Still searching for words, the boy nodded. Wendy bit her lower lip and glanced down at her feet. "Peter? I have no shoes. And… I have nothing warm to wear." It was true. She had only brought summer clothes with her – after all, Neverland was a tropical island. And so Peter made a quick decision; simple and useful. "Use the furs to make you and the boys warm clothes. I know how well you sew." He looked at his shadow plastered on the wall.

"For all of them?" Wendy asked, slightly shocked. Yes, she was very good with needle and thread, but to sew clothes for seven boys – no, eight with Peter! – as well as herself was an enormous task.

The eternal boy nodded. "They'll help you – won't you, lads?" He raised his voice to interrupt the bantering and an almost another pillow-fight.

"What?" they asked in unison.

Peter smiled, full of mischief. "You're helping your mother to sew warm clothes for you all!"

The boys gaped at him, and then at Wendy. "But--" Curly started, but closed his mouth as Peter shot him a glare. "She'll need every one of you. So help her. I, for my part, will fulfill other duties."

Wendy glanced at him, amused. "And that would be?"

Peter grinned broadly. "To make sure that you all get warm hooded capes, and to find out what is happening here."

The girl raised her eyebrows, looking at his bare feet. "So?" she asked innocently, and the eternal boy chuckled.

"Even we have sometimes bad weather here. Yes, I have warm clothes." He went into his alcove. "Make breakfast. I'll be right back!"

While the boys started to prepare breakfast, Wendy followed Peter. Shyly, she stepped into his private domain and smiled when she saw him slipping into a doublet with long sleeves, lined with thick fur. Then he bent down to pull on Indian-style boots, firm leather and also lined with fur. He sat down and laced them up to his knees. His eyes found her bare feet only inches away from him. "If-- if you have a problem making boots, I think Great Panther can help us out. We already planned to visit him, and Tiger-Lily's family will help us."

Wendy sighed and blushed. "I can sew clothes, but I never tried shoes--" She grew silent, and raised her eyes to Peter's quirky smile.

"Just wait until I get back. Then we'll go to the Indians."

He rose and Wendy giggled. She'd never seen him in shoes, or boots. But the thick doublet with long sleeves and the boots suited him. He put on his weapon-sash and belt with the pan-pipe, before he went to the other side of his bed, pulled out a cape out – made of split-leather and fur as well, decorated with leaves – and fastened the clasp at his throat. Wendy looked closer at him. He almost looked like one of Robin Hood's mates, even without the bow and arrow and with the fact that his leggings were leaves instead of wool. "You look … great!" she mumbled, her face flushed.

Peter smiled proudly and only his curls prevented Wendy from seeing his ears redden. "I'll be right back. I only have to get some supplies."

"From Hook's ship," she finished. It wasn't a question. He saw the worry behind her eyes.

The eternal boy grinned roguishly. "The codfish has enough aboard to supply three ships. He really can do without all that stuff."

"But — it's his," she argued, while Peter shook his head.

"He stole it from someone. So it isn't really his. And, by the way, it is the best kind of fun seeing him lose his temper whenever I pay him a visit."

He strode past her, but she laid a hand on his arm and held him back. "Please, be careful?"

The boy nodded slowly. "Aye, Wendy-Lady, I am careful." With that he left his chamber and moments later, took to the cold, clear skies. Tink flew to Wendy and sighed. This time both females understood the other's language. Outside was snow, something so uncharacteristic for the island that it could have made anyone uneasy -- all except Peter. And what was he up to? Playing tricks on Hook, his favorite game! The mortal girl and the enduring fairy shook their head and went into the common-room, where the boys prepared the breakfast and others collected the furs.

------------------------------

The first ice was beginning to collect on the sea as Peter reached the cliffs of Pirate's Cove. The air was crisp, and he could see his breath. Wrapping the cape snugly around him, he headed across the water toward the pirate-ship, the sun at his back, making him difficult to spot. His destination was the storeroom below deck, and he knew he had to be careful. On the other hand – where was the fun if there were no risk?

Moments later, he pressed himself to the hull of the Spanish Gallon. Snow was collecting anywhere there were chinks in the planks, and he could smell the wood-fire on the main-deck, where the pirates warmed themselves at open fires in old barrels. Carefully he looked around and saw one of the portholes open. Very good. _'Fresh air is always popular!'_ Peter joked to himself and climbed into the small cabin.

It was Smee's quarters. It wasn't the first time he'd been here. He glanced to the small desk, the keys on the wall – as boatswain, the Irishman was responsible for the locks as well – the old carpet on the floor, the small bed next to the inside bulkhead, and the fiddle that hung above it. On the desk was an ashtray, and beside lay his pipe, and many documents. Grinning, Peter stepped toward the wall with the keys and looked at them. Beside every key ring was a label. Even if the boy couldn't read, he knew that those labels told Smee which key was for which lock.

Giggling, he started to switch them around, then left the cabin after he had taken a long, wary glance up and down the passageway. He knew exactly where the storerooms were and reached them quickly. He had to take cover once, as Cookson came his way, grumbling about herbs and old milk.

This was almost too easy.

The storeroom, Peter's goal, wasn't locked because there was no treasure here, just goods accumulated in raids. Materials – cotton, wool, silk and velvet -- furniture, tools and ropes needed for repairs, as well as exotic herbs, tea and so forth. Stuff Peter had use for, too, in a manner of speaking.

Quickly, he slipped through the door, closed it noiselessly behind him, and lit a lantern hanging there with accompanying matches. He searched for warm, thick materials, and finally found a bolt of thick woolen fabric in a dark, rich olive-green. Perfect! Quickly he shoved the other bolts aside and freed it, then tucked it under his left arm. Then he strode to the chests with the herbs and teas, opened one of them and found little sacks with aromatic tea. He knew that Hook loved to have a "decent cup of tea," as he called it, and more out of joke Peter took two sacks with him and pinned them under his belt.

Finally satisfied that he had everything he needed, he started to backtrack and left the storeroom, not even bothering to put everything back the way he'd found it. Only he put out the lamp. He knew that an open fire on a ship was a risk, and even if he loved to play pranks on Hook and his crew (he often had tried to send the captain to Davy Jones' Locker during a fight), he didn't want to destroy their home. That would certainly be bad form, and he was above such things. After all, he wasn't Hook! (Nor did he want them living on the island.)

As he crept back toward Smee's cabin, he heard loud shouts from above him and something that sounded like a scuffle. Curious, he decided to have a closer look, so he flew up the companion-way up to the main deck at the aft, in front of the bridge and the quarter-deck. Carefully to remain hidden, he peeked out of the shadows and watched what was happening on deck – the snow-covered deck, as he recognized.

The pirates seemed to be wearing every habiliment they possessed, most of them with two shirts and jackets, two trousers and two pair of stockings, and snuggled into shawls. So they were a really funny sight. Two of them were exchanging blows, and the others surrounded them, cheering loudly. Peter chuckled and flew up into the riggings, where he was safer and had a good view of the events on deck. He knew that it wouldn't be long until Hook appeared, and, as if the commander had heard his thoughts, the door on the bridge flew open, and the ship's owner came out.

His appearance contrasted vividly with his underlings. As always, his clothes were impeccable, made of the finest materials, the long frock coat lined with the fur of an animal Peter recognized from the forests. Over his clothes he wore a long velvet coat, also lined as the first. His left hand was covered with a glove and he wore a luxurious scarf about his neck. He had forgone his hat this time. His black curls hadn't been styled that morning and blew about in the stiff breeze. He wasn't even properly shaved, indicating he hadn't given much effort to the morning's toilette – in contrast to his usual habits.

The reason for this was easy to guess, for it lay cold and white all over the ship. Judging from the situation, his mood was already at rock-bottom, as the crew grasped when he addressed them. "What the hell does this nonsense mean, you bilge-rats?" he called, and the grappling halted instantly.

"George insulted me, cap'n!" one of the two men growled.

"Ye can't be insulted, ye sorry proof of a sad affair between a crab an' a manatee!" George retorted.

"W'at ye say, ye crazy hen?"

Hook closed his eyes, his lip curling, feeling the anger beginning to roil inside him. _'Both are right in their opinion of the other!' _he thought with black humor and saw Smee elbowing through the men. "Mr. Smee?"

The Irishman saluted shortly. "Aye, cap'n?"

"One day in the brig and a complete spring-cleaning of the ship will cool down their excessive energy!" He glanced at two stunned crewmembers. One of them started to protest, but shut his mouth immediately, as he got the glare of his commander. He was most lucky that Hook didn't punish him further – or kill him. "Back to work, you dogs!" he barked and watched the men returning to their job: clearing snow. Shaking his head – God, sometimes he really loathed this pathetic crew, even if their loyalty was something he was grateful for from time to time – and turned to leave the cold bridge. A good breakfast and a warm, heavenly smelling cup of tea were waiting for him inside. And afterward he would try to find out, what was happening to the—

"A bright good morning to you, Captain!"

The boyish voice from above broke into his thoughts. Shocked, Hook looked up to the lowest yard of the mizzenmast directly over his head and saw a relaxed Peter Pan squatting upon it, holding something under his left arm. The pirate-captain stared at the boy. "Pan! You're here?" he gasped, wonderfully perplexed, totally forgetting that he never spoke one reasonable word with the boy on principle.

Peter lay face down on the yard – a challenging gesture and proof how little he considered his enemy's reach. But even this slipped Hook's attention in this moment. "As you see," the boy answered cheerfully. "Why? Miss me? We just saw each other yesterday."

Hook narrowed his eyes and indicated the ship and the snowy island. "And how is it possible that my ship threatens to sink in the snow when your sorry ass is here in Neverland and you are – regrettably – healthy?" he snapped, still not recognizing his strange behavior in talking with his nemesis.

Peter grinned. "Odd that! But, I have to admit: the snow has nothing to do with me."

"Since when do _you_ have nothing to do with the events in Neverland, boy?" Hook sneered and balled his hand into a fist. Finally, the old wrath was returning as he saw the child rising into the air.

Peter shrugged. "It happens!"

The buccaneer had approached him slowly, and now stood directly under him_. 'If the boy only dares to come a couple inches nearer, then—'_

Yes, Peter intended to leave the heights, but not in the way his opponent thought. Next to the captain was a pile of snow, left there as the crew was clearing the bridge. And this accumulation of white magnificence had given Peter an idea. The temptation was simply too great.

Quick as thought, he flew to Hook, and yanked the white scarf with all his might. The result was momentous – for the pirate-captain. Completely unprepared for such an attack, he lost his balance and fell headfirst into the pile of snow.

Peter howled with laughter as Hook emerged, his brows, beard, and hair now white. His face, however, wasn't pale anymore, but deep red with rage. "Goddamn filthy brat!" he screamed, on his feet in the blink of an eye. Still guffawing, Peter flew toward the main deck, Hook followed him down the steep icy stair.

Finally, the crew recognized that something wasn't right and stopped their work, running toward their commander, ready to help him if necessary. Peter flew near to the deck and began to tease his infuriated foe. "Come get me, if you can, old man!"

But how does the saying go? Don't tempt fate? And so Peter was taken by surprise when he suddenly found himself sprawled on the deck, the bolt of fabric skidding out of reach. The iron claw of the pirate had plunged into his carelessly worn cape and dragged him out of the air.

Hastily, the boy brushed the snow out of his eyes and moved to jump up, but found he was prevented when he saw Hook straddling him, standing on his cape and effectively pinning him to the boards. Peter swallowed, eyeing the man who towered over him.

From this perspective, the tall captain intimidated even the fearless youth. "End of the game, boy!" he snarled and drew slowly his sword. "And this time the little hellcat isn't here to save you!" Peter held his breath, seeing the red gleam in Hook's eyes as he knelt to gloat over his fallen foe, and Peter felt the unfamiliar twinge of fright. "You should have stayed in bed this morning, brat," Hook spat. "You might have lived a little longer, but, on the other hand, I'm very glad you didn't." With cold triumph, he stared down into the boy's wide eyes, pleased to see he'd managed to quell the boy's arrogant expression. "Farewell, Peter Pan. I'll probably see you again in hell," and he stood and raised his sword.

The boy reacted, opening the catch of his cape and rolling aside, colliding with Hook's right leg as the blade gouged the wood where his head had been. The pirate again lost his balance, and Peter used this and jerked on the cape. As Hook literary lost the ground beneath his feet, he collided the second time that morning with the frozen deck.

But Peter was mistaken, for, as he had told Wendy, Hook gave never up, the hook darting up and catching the boy's belt, pulling him down with him. They fell together, and in that moment, the tables were turned yet again. Alf Mason proved his worth and seized the boy's neck, dragging him away from the captain, while Mullins and Skylight took his arms and held him tight.

Peter unsuccessfully tried to wriggle free. He saw Hook rising and turning toward him, his face a dark mask of fury and hate. Oh no, not good! "Time to pray!" Mason hissed and shook him like a puppy. "Ye don't know what t'e cap'n has in mind fer ye!" Peter had indeed a good idea what Hook had in his wicked mind for him. And he really didn't want to see it. He saw the captain's eerie expression and met the narrowed blue slits that were his eyes. For a moment fear tickled his spine, recognizing the deep water he was in.

With an icy smile, Hook stepped over to him, signaled Mason to release his neck, grabbed the boy's locks shoved his head back to look him in the face. "This isn't your day, is It, Pan?" he growled. Sparks danced in his piercing blue eyes as he lifted his hook to Peter's throat and felt the boy stiffen as the icy metal touched his skin.

Peter knew from painful experience how sharp the blade was, and having it pressed to one's throat was enough to frighten anyone. Hook's gaze went to the bolt of green material, and he lifted a brow. "My my. Red-handed. Caught in the act. The name your little friend chose for herself fits you, Pan." He turned back to Peter. "You're nothing more than a filthy little thief, boy!" He raised his voice. "And how do we punish thieves aboard the _Jolly Roger_, gentlemen?"

"Twenty blows!"

"Wit' t'a cat!"

"Keelhaul 'im!"

"Walk the plank!"

came the shouts, and Peter looked dismayed, which Hook saw, and a mocking grin appeared on his face. "See how the Pan holds his tongue!" He cocked his head. "It doesn't look good for you, my boy!" Peter still didn't answer, so the Captain lowered his mouth to the boy's ear. "Do yourself a favor and cooperate. I could make it easier for you then."

"How?" Peter hissed, still itching to fight.

"Tell me where our sweet storyteller is hiding, and I spare you the cat before I kill you."

The boy just looked at him, flabbergasted. "Has the cold frozen your brain, codfish?" he asked. "Do you really think I would betray my friends?"

Hook loosed his hair and stepped back, then answered the boy with a hard slap that almost brought tears to his eyes. "Don't insult me, Pan! You're not in a position to negotiate!" Hook snarled, while his men applauded. "It's possible you're too simple to grasp this, but you're at the brink of death – and your beloved Wendy certainly can't survive the ice of Neverland that will surely come worse when you're finally sent to the devil!"

Still stubborn, still proud, Peter didn't answer, certain that Hook WAS insane if he really thought Peter would give away the position of the hide-out. He was still sure he would find a way to escape. He would rather go through the hell that lay ahead just to find that way, before he would give up his friends to Hook's lust for revenge! Pressing his lips together the boy peered into the blue depths before him. The deadly menace woke in Peter an uneasy feeling – a warning no sane person would ignore.

But, of course, Peter wouldn't be Peter Pan if he actually listened to this inner warning. Maybe this was the reason he was able to turn the tables again and again, even the worst situations. And so it was this time. His quick mind found a weak spot. Taking a deep breath, he murmured in small voice: "May I ask you something, Captain?"

Hook glared at him. He couldn't believe that the boy had surrendered. With great distrust, he stepped back again and gave a short nod.

"Would you like another snow-bath?" Peter asked with a grin, and kicked the pirate in the stomach.

The kick was hard, aided by the boots and the men holding his arms. And though Hook was a tall well-trained man, the attack was totally unexpected and drove him backward. In the same moment, Peter elbowed Mullins in the stomach, who, gasping, promptly let him go. The boy whirled and boxed Skylight on the nose, who backtracked with a yelp. A moment later the boy was in the air, while angry shouts rose around him. Peter was on Hook again before the pirate-captain could react. The boy's feet hit his shoulders and sent him onto the icy deck. An outraged cry escaped the buccaneer, and Peter knew that Hook would readily abandon whatever plans he'd concocted to make him die slowly, and just shoot him.

Hastily, he snatched up his cape and lunged between the other pirates to pick up the roll of fabric. He didn't know how he managed to avoid all the hands reaching for him, but somehow he suddenly had it, and instantly he shot up into the skies. Hook's voice drowned out the shouts of all the others: "You've reached the end of the flagstaff, boy! I'll get you today, even if I have to turn over every damn stone of this accursed island! Be sure, Pan, when the evening comes, you'll b dangling from my hook!"

"Don't make promises you can't keep, codfish!" the boy called back grinned widely, Hook feeling the mockery in the white teeth.

That did it. The pirate-captain pulled out his pistol, aimed, and shot. The bullet went high, but only by fractions of an inch. In spite of it, Peter started to laugh. "Are you drunk this early in the morning? Or still hungover from last night? Maybe you're eyes are getting tired, old man!"

The next bullet almost grazed his temple, and Peter decided that it was time to put some distance between him and the infuriated pirate. "A most pleasant farewell!" he called and darted toward Neverland – quickly, before they could make Long Tom ready.

Hook let the pistol fall, and with a roar, attacked the ship's rail with the metal claw. He boiled with wrath and frustration. This goddamn brat had abased him three times in the last five minutes! Several parts of his body throbbed, bruised he was sure. _He had him_ – here, on his ship, held by two grown men, the blade of his hook already at the boy's throat and completely in his mercy (which he would never show, by the way). And what happened? That God-forsaken urchin had managed to escape him again and had him – Captain James Hook – looking like an idiot! The disgrace!

The captain took a deep breath of the cold, clear air and closed his eyes as he attempted to regain control. It wouldn't do him any good to lash out in frustration, even if he wanted to. Smee, who was the only one who dared approach the captain in such a state, slipped over to him and tried to distract him before the fury got the better of Hook. "Sir, do ye truly believe that the change of weather is Pan's fault?"

His first reply was a disparaging snort, but then the commander's face turned thoughtful as he straightened his clothing. Yes, the boy could affect many things, but this? "Hm, possibly. But, on the other hand, if Pan really could influence on the weather on a whim, then we have a problem."

"Maybe he's ill, and --" Smee began, but Hook shook his head, now tapping his fingers on his chin.

"No! The boy was fit as the proverbial fiddle. Yes, he and the island are connected, that we know, but--" He stopped as his thoughts took another direction. "Is it possible that something isn't right with him? Perhaps he grows weaker. Thus, snow covering Neverland." A sinister spark appeared in his eyes. "If he does grow weak, this could be our chance to get him!"

Smee noticed that the other men had used this time return to work, out of the captain's reach. "What about the warning of the Klabautermann? The snow is here, just as he prophesied. He said 'Ice will freeze the sea, the ship will never be free'." He glanced down at the water where ice just glazing the surface. "Don't get me wrong, Cap'n, but this doesn't look good."

Hook nodded. "One more reason to catch the flying imp."

"But if you kill him and Neverland is sunk in ice, then we're stuck here and--"

"Smee, Smee!" his commander sighed. "Don't worry your little grey head! Do you think I'm stupid? Of course I wouldn't kill the boy immediately. As soon as we have him, I take him to the ship, set sail, put a safe distance between this damn island and us and _then_ I slit his throat – after he gets …" his teeth ground together here, "what he deserves!" His eyes searched the snow-covered cliffs and the volcano. "Something's up," he murmured. "Something is changing, and I don't want to be here when it turns out to be serious."

"So we're setting sail, Cap'n?" the boatswain asked hopefully and received a glare.

"Yes, as soon as we have Pan aboard! And the girl," he added after a short pause.

"Why her as well?" frowned the Irishman.

Hook didn't answer at first, then he grumbled: "She has quite a debt to pay me, and I won't let something like that go by."

"And the other boys, sir?"

His lip lifted in an elegant sneer. "Let them turn into little boy-shaped icicles. Good riddance."

Smee didn't dare comment. Most of the time, there was an advantage to be seen as the uncomprehending fool who could only count to three. He could tell the captain the truth, even if it was unwelcome, because a fool can usually tell the truth and get away with it. It was one way Smee could exercise a bit of control over the darkest moods of his commander. Inwardly he sighed, feeling sorry for John. He quite admired the little chap, especially the way he stood up to the pirates at the Black Castle. But, of course, he knew his limits, and to ask Hook to spare a lost boy, or why he was in so attached to the girl would be a mistake. And Hook was attached to her, make no mistake. After all, he had acted almost gallantly toward the little madcap, and he had even risked his life to save her.

His grey eyebrows nearly met in the center as he puzzled out Hook's behavior. Smee didn't want to know what the real attraction of his captain was toward the girl. But if he didn't know Hook better, he might have thought that his commander liked the girl, in his some twisted way.

"Sleep well, Mr. Smee?" Hook's voice woke him out of his thoughts, and he met the glowering expression of his captain with a sheepish smile.

"Thank you, sir, very good, sir. And you?"

The commander rolled his eyes and made a face. "I gave you an order three times, Smee. Sleep well?"

"Aye Cap'n!" the boatswain smiled, until he raised his brows. "Oh, sorry, sir!"

Hook sighed. He was surrounded by fools! "Make the longboats ready! We have a date with Pan and the gang. I want him here before the ice grows too thick! And then – _adios_ Neverland."

He turned and strode toward his cabin. Smee shook his head. What made his captain think that he would be more successful in finding the boy _this_ time? There was no proof that they could catch him and his friends today. Rubbing his eyes beneath the spectacles he moved to obey Hook's order.

-------------------------------------------

And somewhere, deep beneath Neverland, the tall dark figure lifted his head and started to laugh…

TBC…


	8. Friends and Revelations

Chapter 7 – Friends and Revelations 

The children trudged through the deep snow, nearing the Indian camp nestled in the forest in the south of Neverland. They all wore thick hooded capes that Wendy put together in record-time with the olive-green wool from Hook's ship. They were also armed with the swords they had taken from the Jolly Roger during their first stay in Neverland. Of course, the capes weren't of the best craftsmanship, and some of the seams weren't exactly straight, but it didn't really matter, because the material was a thick, boiled wool. Besides, here in Neverland, no one bothered about seams (except Hook, of course). They were warm and shielded the children from the weather, and this was all that counted. 

And Wendy had performed another small wonder. She had changed some of the furs into long warm doublets that reached almost to their knees and were tied with woven leather belts that the boys made from strips. Because they hadn't departed for Neverland in a hurry, but had time to pack, the boys had trousers, shirts and shoes with them. The only one who hadn't thought about shoes was Wendy herself. 

The first part of their trip they all flew, but now, as the trees of the forest formed a virtual ceiling, they decided to walk the rest of the way. It wasn't far, but it was impossible for Wendy to go barefoot through the snow, so Peter carried her – a service she didn't mind a bit. But she did mind something else – the fact that he had been so reckless as to deliberately face Hook instead of simply raiding the ship and leaving. He had played with his very life, as he told them all in detail how the buccaneer had caught and almost killed him, she had grown quite upset with him. This wasn't a game, for God's sake, but a deadly serious situation! Nothing would survive in Neverland if Peter died! 

In addition, she was shocked to see Peter return with an entire bolt of fabric. She thought he might steal a few remnants which the pirates would never use. Stealing the entire bolt gave her a guilty conscience. Yes, the pirates had acquired all of it by stealing it to begin with, that she knew. But nevertheless she felt sorry. If they hadn't needed the warm wool so desperately, she would have sent it back. At night, of course.

After memorizing Peter's profile, Wendy took the time to look around her, and realized that something wasn't right. She met Peter's uneasy gaze for a moment. Earlier that day, Peter had thought that the snow might be fun, even challenging the boys to a snowball-fight, but now, as midday approached, there was a change in the air – he could feel it "in his bones," as Slightly said; and it wasn't going to be pleasant. 

The snow had completely changed the appearance of the island. The bright greenery coated in white looked stiff in the darkening midday. The birdsong had disappeared, and even the bold Never-Bird was suspiciously silent. No gnomes were visible, not one jingle from a fairy reached them. It seemed as if all of Neverland was holding its breath. 

Yes, an adventure lay ahead, that was certain, but Peter wasn't looking forward to it this time. He pondered the warnings of the Green Masters, the behavior of the mermaids, and felt some of the depth of their danger. The last of his doubts were destroyed when the morning sun revealed the snow. The incident with Hook had distracted him, but that was past. At last, as he and his friends had started toward the Indian village, he sensed a dark shadow over the island and invisible eyes that seemed to watch him. He felt … threatened. 

And he didn't like it a bit. Especially since he didn't know his enemy. And when something threatened him AND Neverland as well, then it ceased being fun! The high-spirited, playful, careless boy turned into a warrior. He was, after all, the prince of Neverland, its custodian, so to speak, and then there was no toying with him. Trudging through the snow with Wendy in his arms, his eyes narrowed and his mouth was drawn in a grim line, he was determined to find out more about those 'written words' and to pressure Great Panther to reveal all he knew about it. 

Tink soared beside him. Suddenly there was a snap in the forest near them, and instinctively he put Wendy down, putting his finger before his lips and stepping in front of her. "Who's there?" the eternal boy demanded and his clear eyes pierced the shadows between the trees and the brake.

_'Please, Lord, please don't let it be Hook!'_ Wendy prayed, while the boys around her drew their swords. A tall shadow stepped forward, and, sighing with relief, she saw a man with copper skin, long black hair – decorated with two black and red feathers – and clad in leather and a great woolen blanket, woven in the Indian style. 

"Great Panther!" Peter grinned and lowered his weapon. The Indian shaman allowed his eyes to smile, which softened his severe expression. The nearly black eyes shimmered as he looked at the pale English children accompanying the eternal boy. "It is good that the friends of the Little White Eagle have returned. An eagle is a proud bird that flies alone, but even he can get lonely." His warm voice spoke with a strange accent that suited him. Then his glance was on Peter. "I greet the Little White Eagle. You're late. I waited for you yesterday after the earth showed its anger." 

Peter bowed slightly. Great Panther and a few of the other Indians were probably the only grownups he respected. And sometimes, their families took him in as a guest, sharing their warmth and fellowship, a need he never acknowledged, but often felt. "I had to make sure my friends were safe. They were near the sea when the ground shook." He took a deep breath. "The Green Masters spoke with me, and--" 

"Peter, please--" 

He shrugged Wendy's hand away. "Not now, Wendy. This is important. The Green Masters--" 

"Peter! I can't feel my feet!" she hissed, hopping from one foot to the other. The boy turned toward her, surprised, and saw her pale feet with the blue toes, and gasped. He had already forgotten that she had no shoes. 

Great Panther approached her, opened his thick poncho, lifted Wendy on his arms and closed the warm garment around them. "Brave Feather is strong as our women, but even she has to submit to the laws of nature!" he said to Peter, who bowed his head. 

"Sorry," he murmured sheepishly. 

"Come with me," the Indian shaman said, turning. "It is better to talk in a warm tepee, with tea and soup." 

"Thank you from my friends and me," the eternal boy answered and grinned. "Their soup is delicious!" he whispered to John, who had stepped up beside him. 

"And it will warm Wendy's feet," the oldest of the Darling-brothers said with a hint of reproach in his voice. 

"Soup! Hot tea!" the news passed through the boys, and Michael sighed, "What I wouldn't give for a nice hot cuppa!" while he rubbed his cold freckled nose, tugging his poncho tightly about his shoulders. The other boys chorused their approval as well. 

Peter scratched his head, smiled with obvious embarrassment, and ran to catch up with Great Panther, already several steps ahead. They followed the shaman deeper into the forest and Wendy explored it with her eyes. 

She had been here at night the last time, in apparent midsummer. Thus, she didn't recognize any of her surroundings. It was as though she were exploring a whole new region of Neverland – one she really liked, even in the snow, for she loved snow. The white stuff was the only thing that could transform the grim, dark and noisy centre of London into an almost magical place. But here, she felt that the snow wasn't a good thing – _'Evil,'_ her mind whispered. It was simply wrong that this beautiful land was covered in cold Her gaze wandered to the snowy treetops and the sky, and she saw that it had grown darker. But… it was midday! "Peter!" she called over Great Panther's shoulder. "Look at the sky!" 

The boy followed her pointing finger. At first, he didn't notice anything strange, but then it crept into his mind that the sky was no longer bright because grey clouds had rolled in overhead. The heavens, so clear only moments ago, were bleak twilight, growing greyer as they watched. The artificial evening fast approached, as well as darker clouds. The thin billows had condensed and started to tower up – dark and threatening. Wind rose. In minutes, the sunny clear sky had vanished and transformed into a dark twilight, such as Neverland hadn't seen in ages. 

"It has begun," Great Panther murmured and Wendy saw the sadness in his eyes. 

"What?" she asked gently and met his uncertain gaze. 

"Something our elders prophesied long ago. Something, we knew would come. When the ground shook, I knew the time of darkness had arrived. Yet I hoped--" He sighed and glanced back at Peter, whose face showed grim shock. "We have to hurry. Soon the snow will return, and I want you safe in our village." 

The rest of the way none of them spoke. Even Tink, who started to jingle noisily as the dark clouds shut out the light, was silent, now snuggling into Peter's warm doublet. 

As the first flakes fell, they could see the tepees and smoke between the dark tree trunks. Two sentries greeted them, clearly jumpy, and vanished as silently as they had appeared. The party passed between the tepees, where boys' noses began to twitch and stomachs to rumble as delicious smells met them in the frosty air, and the dancing shadows occasionally appeared when a door was opened. Here and there, they met a few redskins, and they all greeted the children with kind smiles and nods. Several of the Indian children peeked out, and when they saw Peter, they left their warm shelters and joined him. 

Great Panther turned toward the Hogan, next to the chief's tepee where he stood, because the message regarding the arrival of Peter and his friends had already reached him. Beside him stood a smaller figure, and John's eyes widened, recognizing the chief's companion. 

The Indian girl wore her hair braided, plaited with yellow and red strips of leather. A skillfully beaded headband decorated her head, and she was dressed in a long pale yellow leather dress and a warm poncho made of furs. Her pretty face framed soft dark eyes that shone when she saw the dark-haired boy with the glasses who once saved her life. She looked up at her father, and received a soft nod of his head. With a wide smile, she ran toward John. Tiger-Lily felt her heart racing with joy as she stopped in front of the boy she had yearned to meet again, and blushed, as he swallowed, and a deep pink colored his cheeks as well. "John is back!" she said and -- without any warning -- wrapped her arms around him. 

John was thunderstruck and swallowed again, clearly embarrassed. "Tiger-Lily!" he whispered and ignored the snickers of his friends as he returned the gesture. Heavens, what else could he do? Here he was, in the middle of the Indian village, in front of the chief, the shaman, two dozen men and women and his friends, embraced by the prettiest girl in the word, the one whom he really liked! "He… Hello Tiger-Lily. Uh … h-how you are?" God help him, he even stuttered! She must think him a complete idiot! He heard muffled giggles from his friends when he looked straight into Great Panther's and his sister's amused faces. _'Where is a really good mouse hole when you need it?'_ he thought, still very much a boy. 

Lily released him, then looked up – she was almost a head shorter than he – and beamed at him. "Tiger-Lily has waited many days and nights for John to return. She was very sad when there was no sign of him. But yesterday, Little White Eagle said he would go to John's world and would bring him and his friends back. Her heart was full of hope and now … it is light as a feather, dancing in the wind." 

John's face had finally reached the color of a ripe tomato, and he wore the silly grin that the others always teased him about. But he couldn't change it. Whenever he thought about the Indian girl, his heart seemed do a somersault, and now, as he finally faced her again, it raced away somewhere inside him. Suddenly he realized, "You … you're speaking our language!" he blurted. 

Tiger-Lily lowered her head, while her pretty face also blushed beneath her copper skin. "Yes. Tiger Lily learned it – for you." 

John's eyes widened. "You learned … my language … for me?" he asked, amazed. 

She nodded slowly. "When we met the first time, Tiger-Lily could only talk to you with her eyes. Now she can say with words what her heart says." 

The elder Darling son stared at her. She had learned a foreign language which, in Neverland, was not much use, only for him? She had done it by her own free will. For him! This was … the most impressive and special present he ever had received. "You … uh … you speak our language very well." 

She bit her lips. "Tiger-Lily has still much to learn." 

Peter cleared his throat. "John, Tiger-Lily? It's great you two can talk to each other, but can we get back to what's happening here?" 

John tore his eyes from Lily's to look at Peter, "What do you mean?" then he glanced around. "Where is everyone?" 

Peter snorted, then counted on his fingers. "First: it started to snow again!" The two lovebirds glanced up, realizing now that indeed flakes were falling around them. "Second: Great Panther and Chief Rain-in-the-Face have called you twice to join us all in the Council Hogan!" John and Lily both frowned -- they hadn't heard anything. "And third: The eldest, the most important warriors, Medicine-Woman and our whole gang are already in the Council-Hogan and Lily's mother, Gentle Deer, is serving food. So would you both please follow me?" 

With glad, blushing faces, John and Tiger-Lily joined the leader of the Lost Boys, who gave his friend a grin. "You really lose track of everything when she's around, hm?" 

John blustered, "Like you when Wendy is around!" 

This time it was Peter who stopped in his tracks, his face flushed. "I don't know what you mean!" 

John shook his head. "Sure! And I'm the king of Persia!" 

The Indian princess giggled and winked at Peter. "Tiger-Lily understands Little White Eagle. Brave Feather is beautiful. And she knows that even the fairies danced for you two all those moons ago." 

This produced one of those rare moments that Peter was at a loss for words, so he stared at them both as they vanished into the Council-Hogan, feeling the heat rising into his cheeks again. 

It was warm inside the great Hogan. A large fire within a stone circle sent heat and light in a large circle, and its smoke was released through the small hole in the curved roof. The floor was covered with thick furs, and on every seat was a warm woolen blanket, which could be used as pillow or cover. The women of the village had dried meat after the last successful hunt. The flesh would last for several weeks and would feed the tribe during the cold time ahead. They had also cooked a savory soup, made of corn-flour with meat and herbs, that tasted delicious and warmed the freezing children and the others. Along with the soup, they served cornbread with nuts, sweetened with maple syrup. Warm sage-tea with honey steamed in wooden bowls and chased away the scratchy throats and the chill from the bones. 

Even though he was uneasy, Peter ate a double portion, for his instinct told him that he would need all his strength. Tink sat on one of his knees and helped herself by dipping bread crumbs into the soup – Peter held the large wooden soup-bowl on his lap – and drank from his tea. The other boys ate heartily and – of course – Tootles had the most, and broke the record for the number of bowls he ate, even evoking a surprised stare and amused chuckle from the normally solemn chief. Wendy threw him a firm glare, but the boy simply ignored it and asked for the fourth large bowl, which was given to him with a disbelieving shake of the head by Gentle Deer. 

The only ones who didn't eat as though they'd been starved for the last two days were Wendy and John. Wendy didn't eat much simply on principle, nor did she want to take the food from the mouths of the Indian people who would need it if the cold weather remained. And John only had eyes for Tiger-Lily, hardly noticing that he even had food. 

When all were replete, and the bowls were taken for washing, Chief Rain-in-the-Face lit his pipe and sat back on a wooden frame lined with thick blankets. He was silent while he blew the smoke into the four directions of the winds, as was his custom to greet the spirits and to send his thoughts to them through the smoke. He nodded to the shaman. Then, clearing his throat, and Great Panther started to speak: 

"Many lives have passed since the day certain strangers arrived on this land. It was then the first warrior of my family was gifted with the special knowledge of nature, and was the new shaman of our people among my family." 

Wendy, who was wrapped in one of the blankets and finally felt warm again, gave Peter a questioning glance. "He means it was a very long time ago," he whispered and the girl nodded. 

"Once upon a time," she smiled and her friend smiled back. 

Great Panther ignored the whispering and continued: "He saw the strangers' distinction and felt their power, but as it is taught in all our traditions, he bid them welcome." He paused. "Their skin was white and glowed as the sands under the sun, as the snow on a clear winter day. Their hair was pale as sunlight and fell past their shoulders like owl's feathers. Their ears appeared as fairies' ears, and their hearing as keen as dolphins. In their eyes dwelt wisdom of the ages, and sight as sharp as a falcon's. Their faces were beautiful, not only in appearance but with kindness and integrity. They were neither young nor old, and moved with the grace of a cat. They were strong and undefeated in battle, but they were peaceful by nature. They spoke with the animals as well as Neverland's mythical creatures. They learned our language in days, and revealed to us the reason for their coming." 

Here the shaman stopped and lit his own pipe. The boys exchanged glances and peered curiously at Peter, who remained silent, so they did, too. Peter knew that it was rude to interrupt Great Panther's thoughts and manner of telling, and that it was a tradition pause before the most important point. 

Great Panther continued. "They told us they came from faraway and had stepped into Neverland through an opening, a portal made of light. There are invisible passages underground, and where they meet, such portals can open. They said that they could not perform magic, but can influence elements and animals – and humans, as we learned a day later, for one of our young men was injured during a hunt, and one of the strangers cured him in two days." He sighed and laid the pipe aside. 

Tink looked up at Peter, her eyes alight. She suspected who those strangers might have been, and her little fairy-heart was struck with anticipation. The shaman met her gaze and nodded – a silent understanding between mortal and fairy. Tinker Bell felt, for the first time since the earthquake and the snow, a kind of relief. 

"The strangers warned us that one day a dark man would come, and with him, cold and darkness. He seeks power and might, but Neverland … is in his way." His black eyes turned toward the eternal boy. "You are in his way!" 

Peter felt the tension around him. "Why?" he asked. "Why we in his way? Who is this man?" 

"The strangers said that he would carry a hunger for supreme might, that he wants to subdue all peoples of the world. He uses the black power none should call upon, and he is obsessed with it. He comes here to destroy Neverland --" 

"But why?" Peter interrupted. "If he wants to rule the word, the human world, why is Neverland in his way? I mean, we are far away from the rest of the world and--" He saw Wendy's gaze and stopped. "What?" 

"Don't you care that a madman wants to subdue my world – the world you began in as well?" she asked, half unbelievingly, half shocked. "All the people living there, all the men, women, children--" 

Peter blinked surprised. "Of course I care. I just don't understand why this 'dark man' wants to attack Neverland when it's not his goal." He pursed his lips. "If he destroys Neverland, I will lose my home, and for most children, Neverland is the harbor where they anchor their dreams – and sometimes visit." 

Chief Rain-in-the-Face spoke for the first time. "That is the reason, Little White Eagle," he said, his voice calm and rough. "Everything in the universe finds its balance. Where there is shadow is also sun. Where is bad you can find good. And where there is despair and sadness, there is also--?" He didn't end the sentence, but looked at Peter. 

The eternal boy raised his eyebrows. "Hope and joy?" 

The Indian chief nodded and Great Panther spoke again. "And this – hope and joy, courage and loyalty – are you and Neverland. The strangers told us that the dark shaman will use the despair and sorrow to rule the people. As long as you have hope, you're strong and will fight. But if you lose hope, you will surrender." 

Peter nodded slowly. "I remember," he murmured. "I remember the battle with Hook all those moons ago, when he tried to make me believe that Wendy would forget me and wouldn't-- " he paused, searching for the right word, his cheeks warming again, "—she wouldn't care about me." He ignored the boys' glances and fixed his eyes on Great Panther until he felt Wendy's hand touching his arm. 

"You know he lied!" 

Peter caught her gaze. "Aye! I got the best proof of it and--" his friends started to smile, and he and Wendy turned pink. The other adults exchanged amused glances with each other, remembering quite well their own experience of giving their hearts. 

Great Panther finally shifted and cleared his throat. "The strangers said that the dark shaman had far to go before he would arrive here, but now it has happened. The first signs have been given." 

Wendy nervously licked her lips. "The snow?" 

He nodded. "It reveals his power. But the first sign came as his foot touched Neverland: the ground shook with loathing and fear." 

"The earthquake!" Tootles gasped and Nibs and Curly gulped. "That was the first sign!" This was not good! 

The chief straightened his shoulders. "The shaking was the first warning, the snow is now the second. The dark shaman is here, and he will not rest until the island is his. The easiest way to do that is by killing you, Peter." It was rare that the leader called the eternal boy by his given name, and it made the warning that much stronger. 

"Just let him try!" Peter answered grimly. 

"He will. He will send his eyes and ears out to search for you. His dark creatures will be everywhere, and even you will not be able to avoid them all," an old warrior, who wore the symbol of the greatest warrior of a tribe, spoke and looked at the boy with dark, old eyes. His white hair was drawn into one long braid and a single black and white feather hung from a small braid at his temple. 

Peter groaned. "Wonderful. Surrounded by beasts and Hook and all his pirates!" He shook his head. "And the day started so well!" 

"Ironhand should not be your concern now, Peter," the Chief said softly. "The dark shaman is the greater danger." 

The boy laughed humorlessly. "Easy for you to say. At the moment, he's searching the entire island for us, and is, well, amazingly irritated with me. Much as I hate to admit it, in this state, he is a problem." 

Great Panther blinked in soft surprise. "Why is Ironhand so angry with you that he leaves his giant canoe in such weather?" 

Nibs shrugged. "Hook's usually in bad mood." 

"Especially when someone dumps him in the snow three times, embarrasses him in front of his men and steals from his ship," Wendy commented pointedly, and earned a sharp glare from Peter. 

"Don't start on that again," the boy growled. 

Wendy made a face. "Admit it. This time he has a reason." 

"The time to play pranks will come again, Little White Eagle," Chief Rain-in-the-Face said with a smile touching his eyes. "And Brave Feather shouldn't be so upset. Our young ones prove their courage in much the same way." 

"With pirates?" 

"Before, with other tribes or fierce animals. But here are only the white men on the giant canoe, so: yes." The girl shook her head and sighed, _'Men!'_ She saw Peter's triumphant grin, but he refrained from saying, "Told you so." The shaman collected their thoughts again. "Avoid Ironhand in the next days, Peter. You will need all your resources for the fight ahead." 

"But what can I do?" the boy asked, again captured by the problem at hand. "I don't know what he looks like, what his name is, where he is, what his plans are, his weak spots, or anything! And you tell me he has dark creatures to assist him, and I don't know what they can be. How shall I fight an enemy like this?" Suddenly he seemed to remember. "The strangers-- They told you more. The Green Masters said that there are written words and --" 

"The forest seers talked with you?" the chief gasped and oldest about them began to murmur. 

Peter nodded. "Yesterday, shortly before the earthquake." He reported (as best he could) the Green Master's words and the arrival of the raven. Most of the others grew grim-faced as the boy finished, and there was a long moment of silence in the Council Hogan as glances were exchanged. Suddenly Peter knew why. "You know about the prophecy!" Great Panther only looked at him, but that was proof enough for Peter. "Please, tell me what it is. It might tell us how to find this wizard, how to defeat him. Our all lives depend on it." 

Suddenly, the silence ended as all the men started to speak at once. Peter joined them, angrily speaking in their language, arguing. Great Panther exchanged a long look with his chief, who gave a curt nod. The shaman breathed deeply, and stood with his hand lifted, saying firmly: "Peace, my brothers! And use the tongue of the blue-eyes so that our guests might follow our deliberations!" 

"Blue-eyes?" Michael whispered and John murmured back. 

"Us. White men." 

Tiger-Lily, who sat near him, smiled. "It is true. John has blue eyes." 

The shaman glanced at Peter, whose eyes shot daggers at an older man with whom he had quarreled. "My little white son should compose himself as well. Great Panther knows that our lives depend on those written words and that it is time for them to be spoken again." 

"But the strangers made us vow that we would not share the written words with anyone!" one of the older men said. 

"Strong-as-a-Bear was wise even before his hair turned white. But tell me, my brother: for what are the words written, and why did the strangers impart them to us, if not to use them when the time has finally come?" 

"Is Great Panther certain of this?" the older warrior asked with heavy accent. 

The shaman fixed him with his eyes. "The strangers said that thunder would rule the tides and that winter would cover the island. The second sign has already begun and --" 

It was that moment a rumble of thunder rolled through the trees, startling the council. Great Panther lifted a brow. "Does someone still doubt that the time the strangers told about has begun?" The others, boys included, shook their heads, their faces ashen. 

The shaman nodded at a young man next to him, who stood up and left the Council-Hogan. Silence fell over the other ones; only the sighing wind and the dark thunder was heard. From somewhere a short screech sounded through the storm. It was gone so quickly that it could have been an imagination. 

Peter sat between his friends, lost in thought. Yes, he knew that life in Neverland was always dangerous, not only because of the beasts of the jungle and the pirates, but – after all this was the adventure – the magical appeal -- of the island in his eyes. But he had never dreamed that someone might want to _destroy_ Neverland. Neverland was a world unto itself, with its own peoples, creatures, weather patterns. Here lived a multitude of inhabitants; the fairies and the skeaghshees, the gnomes and the dwellers of the swamps, forests and mountains, flocks and herds, the mermaids and the watershees, the animals and the mysterious unicorn that no one had ever really seen, the Indians and – of course – the pirates (even though his enemies, he accepted them as inhabitants of the magical island, too). But if Neverland were destroyed, they all would lose their home and, Peter was certain, their lives as well. This wasn't a game now, this was a deadly serious undertaking – far too grownup for his liking, but it seemed that there was no other choice. Who ever this warlock adversary was, he had already arrived, and had announced the battle. 

Peter was startled as suddenly the blanket at the entrance was lifted and coldness swept into the Hogan. The young warrior had returned and hastily closed the blanket behind him. Snow glistened in his black hair and he had wrapped the poncho tightly about him. Removing his hand from beneath, he handed the shaman a leather-bundle, laced together. Almost reverently, Great Panther took it and knelt down by the fire, untying the laces. "For countless suns, only the wise of our tribe knew of its existence and where it was hidden. The strangers advised us to wrap it in oil cloth, in leather and fur, to protect it against weather and time. We followed their wisdom and concealed it where no mortal nor immortal would think of, until now. We kept it secret, and that secret is now revealed." 

He opened the oiled leather bundle, took out a parchment roll and gave it to Peter, who took it hesitantly. It felt stiff in his hand, and with infinite care, he opened the lace that held it together, and gently unrolled the old parchment. He looked, saw the writing, and blinked, bemused. "These letters -- they are different from those that Hook uses," he murmured. 

Slightly, who sat beside him, looked over his shoulder. "Are you sure?" Of course, he knew that Peter couldn't read. 

The boy showed his second in command the parchment. "I know the letters Hook uses when he writes in this big book on his desk. I've examined several pages of it at times as well as the books when he wasn't in his quarters. These letters aren't the same!" 

Wendy bent forward to him, as well as John and Nibs, staring down onto the parchment. "They're beautiful!" the girl whispered as she saw the gracefully curved script. 

Nibs snorted. "Yes, and completely strange. Great! We have a prophecy we can't read!" 

John polished his glasses on his shirt, took the parchment from Peter, and examined it. "Yes, they look strange, but if you look closer you can interpret the different letters. This one could be a 'Y' and this a 'F' and an 'E'." 

Slightly nodded. "And this could be a 'M' and this a 'N'. Let's try to puzzle it together." They glanced at Peter who nodded, quite relieved. In fact, he could neither read nor write his own language, let alone a totally foreign one. 

"Do you have anything to write with, Great Panther?" Curly asked and John looked at him askance, whispering a "They're Indians, Curly. Indians don't write, but communicate in pictures, or verbally." 

The shaman smiled. "The savior of our tribe's daughter is right. But I think I can help you." He gave him the leather and a charred stick from the fire. "Now you can make the marks that the white men use." 

John grinned. "Thank you." He looked at the document in Peter's lap and then at Slightly. "This could take a while." 

"Take what time you need," Chief Rain-in-the-face said and stood slowly up. He wasn't exactly thin and his thick middle was a tribute to his wife's excellent cooking. "We invite you to stay the coming night in our village. The winds rage, sending more snow. It is dangerous outside, even for someone fearless as the Little White Eagle. Perhaps it will calm again tomorrow, and you can start your search for the dark shaman, rested and sated." His eyes found Wendy, and for the first time an almost fatherly smile played at the corner of his mouth. "And Brave Feather needs warm boots and a warmer dress. Our women will help her with what she needs." 

Wendy smiled in gratitude. "Thank you so much, Sir," she answered softly. 

Peter bowed from the waist in his sitting position, and thanked the Chief in the Indian tongue. These were offers they all gladly took. It was late afternoon, and still the storm lingered over the island. The blizzard had grown heavier and every creature – whether magical, animal or human – had sought shelter. John, Michael, Slightly, and one of the twins sat with bowed heads over the prophecy, arguing and scribbling, while the others played a Neverland version of rock-paper-scissors not far away.

------------------------------------------

Neverland had grown silent, seeming to crouch down beneath the raging wind. Peter stood at the entrance and watched the driving snow pile up outside. He didn't like the situation. His friends were still working on the parchment, and because he couldn't help them, he had nothing to do, and his adventurous nature was bored and frustrated. Yes, they needed time to translate the puzzle, but he felt deeply that the one thing they could not spare was time. 

He heard the screeching above him and looked up. The snow was blown into his eyes and he blinked several times. There! There he almost saw something – a dark shadow, like a giant bird. But it passed away before he was able to make out what it was. 

Sighing he backed into the warm Hogan. Instinct told him that it would be better to evade the invisible eyes he could feel around him. As he returned into the structure, Great Panther nodded at him and left, and Slightly said: "Peter? I think we have it! Great Panther is calling the others." His eyes lit and he took his place near the center fire. The other warriors and the elders had left them shortly after the boys started to decrypt the lines, only Medicine-Woman, Great Panther and Tiger-Lily had remained with the other children. 

"What does it say?" Peter asked anxiously and sat down beside John, who had written the prophecy down on the leather. John had the best handwriting, next to Wendy, who was talking with Tiger-Lily and Medicine-Woman. 

Yes, Wendy had also helped the boys, going against the Indian tradition that no females were allowed to meddle when males held their pow-wow, but the girl was very good at breaking rules and defying tradition. Good thing, too, for she was more familiar with fantasy, and more able than the boys to understand the meaning behind the strange words. Because of this, she glanced with frightened eyes at Peter. "It says quite a lot, but it's still a riddle," she answered, and took his hand in hers. "Peter, it doesn't sound good." 

Our young hero frowned, and saw how pale the others were. For an instant, he felt icy fear creeping up his spine, but it didn't last long, for his mirth and confidence was always close by. He whispered to Wendy: "Don't forget: Hope is the last thing to die!" 

She nodded. "Exactly what the dark wizard intends to bring about. He has begun to make this intention real."

TBC…


	9. The Prophecy

Dear readers,

Sorry, guys, that I didn't publish sooner, but I were on a vacation for Carnival and had to do a lot before and after the "funny days". Since everything is now back to normal the next chapters will come quicker, promised.

The fallowing chapter will finally plung into the whole mess, Peter and his friends have to face. There will be also a little bit romance (you'll see what I mean) and a new character will show you all have waited for, as I've recognized seeing the reviews and sent-e-mails.

For all you encouraging words and compliments a big "thank you", as well as for my beta-reader, who really has a lot to do with me. Pleeeeaaaase review. I'm so curious what you're thinking about this chapter.

Have fun

Lywhn

**Chapter 8 – The Prophecy **

Apprehension lay over the Council Hogan like a prickly blanket, as warriors, elders, and chief returned, summoned by Great Panther after the boys decrypted the strange runes of the prophecy. The air was so tense that even Peter held Wendy's hand without realizing it. Wendy's presence was something he needed now, and would have acknowledged this had he been aware of it; even Tinker-Bell could see this, and didn't protest or even feel jealous toward the girl.

John held the parchment and the translation on his lap. "It's a bit rough, but this is everything we've been able to translate." He took a deep breath and read aloud:

There will come a time,

When the dark one steps on the childhood's land,

Coming with ill faith and death.

The ground will tremble under his feet

And his breath will chase the warm away.

Destruction are bringing his servants,

Hopelessness wakes his words,

Perdition edges his way,

And death gives the touch of his hands.

His eyes will be in the skies,

His ears will be in the wind,

His arms will attack in rock and sinister lives

And his mind will reach for yours.

Neverland will grow stiff in ice and snow,

Before the fire of dying hope will turn it to ashes.

The sun will be hiding behind the clouds,

And darkness will blur the frontier of night and day.

Every animal will hole up,

Every magical creature will try to flee,

Every human will writhe in hunger and adversity,

And flash and thunder will rule the tides.

But if the friend stands by his friend,

If the enemy helps the enemy and

If young and old are going the same way,

Then the dark one has to fall.

The silver's mighty blade is his demise,

Forged in the flames of the masters,

Steeled in the water of the ancient fountain,

And fortified with the eldest breath.

But if the ally turns into a traitor,

And the blade beams toward itself,

Then the dark one will prevail

And lost are light and life.

As John finished, Peter felt everyone looking at him. It was so quiet you could hear the fire hissing and sparks popping. Then the pandemonium began.

The Indians, normally men of few words, all started talking at once, punctuated by the boys joining the discussion. "That's gibberish!" "How shall we escape the hunger and adversity?" "How shall we fight it?" "Death at the touch of his hands --!" "We have to stick together, and we'll defeat this threat as well!"

The only two who remained silent were Peter and Wendy. The girl felt her friend's bemusement and could almost see the thoughts whirling in his head. But his gaze alarmed her. It was expressionless, empty – a typical sign of shock. "Peter?" she whispered, and he seemed to wake, eyebrows drawing together. He glanced at her, stood up, and wordlessly left the Hogan. Wendy watched him go, biting her lower lip, tempted to follow him, but she knew that he wanted to be alone. Besides, she still had bare feet. Perhaps he could find a solution if they all left him in peace for a while.

Outside, snow was still falling, but the boy welcomed the chill, for it helped him to think, but did not ease his misery. His gaze wandered over the deepening snow. He sighed, frowning. Only yesterday, everything had been a lush green, decorated with white, pink, red, yellow and blue flowers. It had smelled earthy and sweet, rich with herbs, flowers, life and the sea air. The sun had been warm and the wind like silk stroking the skin. But now everything was frozen, covered with ice. Snow sparkled in the sparse lights from the homes, and the wind moaned through the branches.

Nearby, a lynx screamed, rejoicing over its kill, its cry echoing through the dark forest. Instinctively Peter wrapped his arms around him and shuddered, while his clear eyes peered through the shadows at the edge of the village, and his ears attuned to all noises in the wind's sorrowful sighing. Not far away, a swarm of birds mounted up, and then a flash of lightning tore the darkness of the evening, followed by a deafening thunder. Its echo resounded in the mountains and even the eternal boy jerked startled.

Somewhere in the village, a small child started to cry; and Peter heard it clearly. For a moment his instinct beckoned him to search for the infant, to comfort it as he had done to children for many years, but then he remembered that the baby had a mother who would care for it. Peter sighed, shook his head. Strange, he couldn't stand to see any child crying. Maybe it had something to do with his experience when he was very small. Maybe it was because of what he had become: the eternal youth, the eternal child, the leader of the Lost Boys and friend to all children.

A light appeared beside him, and he recognized Tinker-Bell, who flickered in the cold air. She fought against the wind and gratefully sat down on Peter's open palm, where she found shelter. Tink looked at the boy she loved so much. It was rare that he showed any sign of fear, but now it lay as a gash on his handsome face -- a bad sign.

"Is this the end?" he asked his tiny friend. "Is this all that's left?" His gesture indicated the entire island. "Snow, ice, darkness, weeping and fright?" Tears stung his eyes. "Neverland is a place of warmth and sun, of cheer and joyous adventures, but not that!"

Tink left the protection of his hand, twinkled to his face and wiped the tear away that had escaped. She jingled softly and looked at him, full of compassion and affection. The boy nodded, a glint of determination showing in those eyes. "I know, Tink. There's always a way." He shivered and moved closer to the Council-Hogan. "But where do I begin? Somewhere a sorcerer has made himself at home and established a headquarters, and from there he will wage his campaign. I don't know where to start. We know now that he isn't alone and has deadly hands – what ever that means – and that there will be an ally who has to stand on our side or everything will be lost." He frowned again. "And where can we find this … this blade, which can send him to hell? 'Forged in the flames of the masters, steeled in the water of the ancient fountain, and fortified with the eldest' breath.' What does this mean? Who are these eldest? The eldest fairies, perhaps?"

Tink shook her head. No, she would have heard of such a thing, if the fairies had made such a special, nearly magical sword.

"And who is the 'enemy who helps the enemy'?" Peter continued and shook his head in frustration. "Riddles over riddles!"

Tinker Bell tapped his cheek, then formed her right index finger into a hook. Peter's eyes grew wide. "Hook!" he blurted, and snorted mockingly. "Oh, I say! As soon as he hears about our dilemma, he'll come to me, offer me his good hand and say: 'I say, Pan, old boy, let's forget all that's happened between us, as I've already done. Of course I'll help you to send this charlatan to the devil. I'd be happy to give my life to protect you against this nasty character with his pesky wand.' " He held her close to his face and looked at her closely (which made him slightly cross-eyed). "Have you lost your mind, Tink? Do you know what he'll say as soon as he gets this 'good news'?" He took a deep breath and imitated Hook's voice again: "Brimstone and gall, this is your doom, boy! Now you'll be sent to your maker! And I will have the privilege of being the first to dance on your grave!" Peter made a face and kicked at the snow.

Suddenly the cover over the entrance of the Council-Hogan behind him was opened and several warriors stormed out with raised weapons. The other boys followed them closely. "Ironhand is in the village!" the chief shouted, and Peter found himself dragged behind two tall warriors, who formed a shield for him. "Boy, stay behind us! Be safe there!" one of them said, and lifted his tomahawk. Peter suddenly realized that they'd heard him imitating Hook's voice, and concluded that Hook was attacking. The warriors circled about him, joined by all the boys, while news of the attack put the entire village on alert. Abruptly, all anxiety and stress vanished, and Peter began to laugh, his merriment returning.

Slightly was peering into the shadows about him, "Where's Hook?" he asked and stared at his friend. "Peter? What's wrong with you?"

The eternal boy guffawed, shouting his laughter into the gloom. "Great Panther, Chief!" he called when he could catch a breath. "Hook isn't here! That was me!" As they turned to look at him, he laughed again. The men looked around, skeptical, but they saw no pirates, and certainly no iron-handed man with a curly, black mane.

Michael grinned. "You really sound just like him!"

"Yes indeed!" John chuckled. "I remember when you fooled Smee and the other pirate into setting us free!"

"Yes – the same time he nearly found me!" Wendy added, standing at the Hogan doorway. "Peter Pan! You almost gave us a heart attack!"

Tiger-Lily came out as well and shot Peter a glare. "Bad joke!"

There was no remorse in the boy. Instead, he grinned broadly. "I was only thinking about what Hook would say, if he knew about our situation." His eyes found Tinker-Bell. "And no, he wouldn't help us."

Wendy's brows rose. "Hook helping Peter? Never!"

"See?" Peter prompted, and the fairy rolled her eyes, stuck her tongue out at him and flew back into the warm Hogan.

The medicine man approached him as the others returned to the relative warmth within, and looked at the boy askance. "The Little White Eagle must not judge too quickly. The prophecy speaks of an enemy, and Ironhand is your enemy."

"Yes," Peter nodded. "My _mortal_ enemy, who remains only to kill me! We'll see the sun freeze over before Hook moves a finger to help _me_." The chief passed by, murmuring something stupid about tricks and stupid boys, and entered the Hogan again. Peter winced. "Sorry!" he called after him, but wasn't sure if the Indian leader had heard him.

Wendy shook her head. "Peter, you did it again."

Innocently he glanced at her. "What do you mean?" But Wendy only shook her head.

The children stayed with the villagers the rest of the day, and slept in the Hogan that night as well, the best arrangement for nine unexpected guests. The fire burned down to a comfortable glow, and the children nestled into warm blankets on the furs. It was late evening and still the wind was murmuring, moaning, rattling through the trees. It might have been cozy if the threat hadn't been in the back of everyone's mind.

Peter lay near Wendy and stared up at the curved roof. The girl shifted in his direction and their eyes met. "Try to sleep, Peter. You'll see, we'll make it through this too."

The boy gave her a quick smile. "Yes, we'll tar and feather him and ride him out on a rail!" He sighed. "But I don't know how we'll do it without more information about him and that weapon."

"I'm sure we'll find it. Maybe you should ask the mermaids, or the elder fairies. They might have heard something about it."

The boy sighed and shifted, his hands folded under his head. "The mermaids left Neverland by now. They told me they would swim to the open ocean as soon as the first hint of darkness came. Well, remember what it was like by noon? It was as dark as evening. No, they're not around anymore." He chewed his cheek a moment, thinking. "But you're right about the fairies. I think I'll visit them tomorrow." He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Tired?" Wendy asked, and to her surprise, Peter admitted it freely.

"Yes. I barely can keep my eyes open." He yawned again. "I expect it's being cold, and everything we did today." His words were slurred, and the girl lifted her head, watching him warily. He was pale beneath his golden skin and his sleepy eyes were reddened. He shifted back to his side and snuggled deeper into the blankets, starting to relax.

"We'll make it," Wendy repeated. "You'll see."

But Peter didn't hear her, for he was already asleep. The girl smiled, pulled her blanket up to her chin and listened to the wind outside. Unbidden, a thought entered her mind that made her nervous in an odd way: Was Hook still out there? Were he and his men still roaming the island fighting the storm and the bitter chill? Could they be lost somewhere in the darkness? A blizzard can overpower even the strongest man, making him lose his way -- certain death … Wendy lifted her head and looked into the warm golden fire. Why should she care? The pirate-captain had tried to kill Peter. Again. And he threatened to make her pay, and she had a certain keenness about it. She really didn't want to walk the plank again! No, the buccaneer wasn't worth the worry.

But still … she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach when she imagined him out there in the icy woods, searching through snow and wind for a way back to his ship or the Black Castle, freezing and half blind with the falling snow. After all, he _had_ saved her life, and for a long, very alien moment, she felt secure in his nearness as he held her while she fought the effects of a near drowning.

The girl sighed. Whatever had prompted him to help her, it was over. His threats left no doubt about that. But still, she saw him bending over her, his forget-me-not blue eyes questioning, almost caring.

And, at the very edge of sleep, just before she slipped into the warm dark water of oblivion, she thought she heard his voice in the wind, dark, purring and soothing: "We'll make it, beauty."

-------------------------------

While the children prepared for sleep, Hook sat at the great table, his feet on another chair-seat, sipping his wine from a golden goblet and staring into the dancing flames in the large stone fireplace. He listened with half an ear to the wind that howled around the Black Castle, lost in thought.

The sudden coming of the blizzard had taken all of them by surprise. They were again searching the Ancient Forest and had turned to the direction of the mountains – Hook supposed Peter's new hide-out there, possibly in one of the many caves – when the skies had darkened and the snow had started to fall. First it came softly, like one of those wonderful winter days he remembered another life he knew in England, but then the wind increased to a level that forced the men to lean against it, fighting it. The temperature continued to fall, and soft flakes turned into stinging shards of ice, biting their faces like knives.

When thunder finally rolled over the island, Hook knew they had to search for shelter – as quickly as possible. The Black Castle was closer than the ship, and so Hook had ordered his men to the ancient, partially habitable ruin.

Which means it was partially renovated by the ship's carpenter, Mullins, and several other members of his crew. The result was marvelous: a main room and dining-room, two bed-chambers (for himself and Smee), a common-room (for the men), a stockroom and a kind of water closet. Even the old kitchen, built on a lower floor than the other rooms and could be reached by a steep staircase, was functional. Outside, in the courtyard, they had located the well and cleaned it out, and now it supplied the occasional inhabitants with fresh, clear water. The rooms were furnished and decorated with many plundered items he could not use aboard ship. Thick carpets warmed the floors, tapestries and paintings hung on the stone walls and dark, heavy furniture completed the picture of the living-area of a medieval lord. Somehow, it was fitting for a pirate-captain.

Hook shifted in the heavy chair with the high back, and snuggled deeper into the warm woolen blanket he had wrapped around him. His clothes were in the bathing area, drying, and he wore simple trousers, shirt, and thick socks and had freed himself from the painfully confining harness. He knew he was safe inside the castle, and so he set aside the weapon normally attached to his body.

But the longer he thought about what was happening outside, the more his certainty of safety eroded. Before today, he could have been certain that Pan was dead. Neverland was practically submerged in snow and ice, far worse than when the boy was simply away from the island. If the brat hadn't visited on this snowy morning, by now the pirate-captain would have opened a barrel of rum, and thrown his crew the biggest party they'd ever seen, celebrating the final defeat of that damned rascal.

But the boy was _alive!_ In spite of that disgusting fact, Neverland was suffering from weather he would have expected in Siberia. _What the hell was happening here?_

Hook put his goblet back and took one of the remaining bits of cheese that lay on his plate, beside bread and grapes. He wasn't hungry in the moment, the result of a troubled mind and his concern for the ship. It wasn't necessary to return to Pirates Cove to know that the Spanish galleon was trapped in ice, threatening to crush his ship. The strong hull of the _Jolly Roger_ had survived the ice when the boy left, but never before had it been like this. The ice would grow thicker and thicker, until any shifting would crush the galleon. If the weather didn't change back soon, his ship would be lost, and all of them would be condemned to stay on the island until they finally fell prey to the ice or the savages.

And Captain James Hook hadn't survived the crocodile's gut and the Royal Navy to find his end on a savage's stake!

"Cap'n?" Smee's brogue sounded from one of the doors and the buccaneer looked up.

"Yes, Mr. Smee?"

The older Irishman looked closer at his commander. He seemed to be tired and worried – two things he rarely showed. And the boatswain knew Hook very well. He had been at the captain's side for a very long time now -- long before they arrived in Neverland -- when they had sailed north from the Bahamas and had found themselves surrounded by fog and eerie lights, followed by a mighty storm. When the wind finally died, they had seen the island: Neverland.

The boatswain sighed deeply and rubbed his red nose. "Your bedchamber's ready, fire's lit, bed-warmer between the blankets and all windows barricaded."

Hook lifted a brow. "All windows, Mr. Smee?"

The Irishman nodded. "Aye Sir, just like y' ordered."

Somewhat relieved, the pirate-captain nodded and stood up. He didn't know why, but his instincts told him to keep this hideout at the Black Castle a secret. Something very nasty was about on this cursed island, and even if he thought himself acting like a timid mouse in the dark, he knew that there were creatures outside he didn't want to meet. Because of this, as well as the bitter cold, he ordered all windows shuttered or nailed up in the area where he and his men stayed. The light from the fires and candles would have betrayed them. It also served to block out some of the weather.

He stretched and stood, the blanket sliding down his lean body. Not bothering to pick it up, he retired to the bedchamber. "Wake me early, Smee. It's more urgent than ever that we find this little pest and his friends! I think he is the key to all this." Not waiting for an answer, he closed the door behind him.

It was almost warm inside, warmer than the dining-room. He undressed quickly, even with only the one hand, but it was possible with this simple trousers and shirt. It was quite another thing when he needed to be dressed properly. For that, he had to rely on another for help. But he preferred to do it himself. He hated to be dependent – the very reason he had chosen the life of a pirate – and to need someone to dress and undress him was almost worse than the periodic pain in his mutilated arm.

He slid into the bed and sighed contentedly as the warm blankets and comforter surrounded him. The wood crackled in the fireplace, sending sparks up into the chimney – a welcome distraction from the storm outside. In fact it was quite calming.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and turned his back toward the fire, pulling the comforter up over his bare shoulder. But then, without any intention, he thought of Pan, that this damn brat was surely somewhere in his hide-out, pierced by the frigid temperature. He saw the boy cowering under a filthy blanket, shivering with cold and fear. If he, James Hook, could sense that something evil was in the air, then the boy must surely feel it a dozen times stronger. After all, he was somehow connected to the island. "Serves you right, you little pest!" the pirate-captain growled under his breath. "Freeze solid, Pan! You and all your nervy little friends. I hope the storm gets the better of you all!" Smirking, he pulled the blankets even tighter around him and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, the picture of a freezing Peter Pan, sitting helpless in a dark hole, vanished, and there was a soft, angelic face with large blue-grey eyes, and his cold heart paused. Of course, she would be there as well, suffering in the cold, extradited to the merciless murderous winter. He thought he could see her trembling under that pathetic filmy nightgown, her arms wrapped around her, knees pulled up to her chest, breath fogging the air before her full blue lips and tears in her eyes. Something like a pang shot through him and he glanced into the dark twilight of the room.

'_Why should I care?' _the pirate in him thought. _'She deserves it, after what she did to me – what she did after I saved her sorry little life! Let her freeze to stone. I. Do. Not. Care!'_

'_Well spoken! Since when do you lie to yourself so thoroughly?'_ another part of him mocked – the part of him that had made him run after the girl to take her to safety in the face of certain death. The very same part that had told him to give her his breath, the part that comforted her.

'_Of course, I'd rather send her to her Maker myself, as well as the boy, but if wishes were horses, beggars would ride!'_ the buccaneer sneered.

'_I see! You want to kill her – but first you want to find her and make sure she's warm!'_ the other, unwelcome part of him said sarcastically.

"Oh, damn!" Hook growled and shifted to his other side. "I _will_ make her pay, without a hint of mercy! That is, if she survives the night."

His gaze found the flickering fire, a warm living light in the darkness. And against his will, his mind chose its own path yet again. Did she have such a fire as well? Was she staring into a similar one, somewhere, safe and warm? Could she feel the invisible danger lurking in the shadows the way he did, and was she afraid? Or was she in a cold, dark hole, praying that the night would go away, and begging the angels for help?

"James, shut up!" he groaned and rubbed his face. "Forget that ungrateful, childish witch and go to sleep! She isn't worth it! Tomorrow we'll locate the gang of rascals and then _she_'ll be the one who's 'done for'!"

He forced his thoughts away from the girl, but it was more difficult than he could wish for. Somehow, she had managed to touch a part of him -- again -- a part he thought was locked away in the deepest part of his soul. And she had reached it, very much against his will.

'_No! Not again – never!' _he swore and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he started to relax. He was tired, very tired, and the warmth of the fire and the bed called to him. And so he didn't realized that he spoke his last waking thought aloud – a thought he had forbidden himself to ever think again, but which seemed to be impossible to chase away.

"We'll make it, beauty!"

------------------------------------

_The rush of mighty wings passed his hiding place, and he thought he would see a dark shadow above him. Quickly looking up, he saw a giant black bird glancing down at him. He frowned. The bird's head wasn't normal, but reminded him of an old woman. Her face was almost white and her nose long and curved, like the beak of a bird, deep wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, yellow expressionless eyes with no lashes, with pupils as black as the darkest night where you could see an inner fire that scared away every living soul. Then she opened her thin-lipped mouth and showed him long sharp teeth. An eerie laugh escaped her throat and a high, squawking voice said: "We'll find you. You can't escape my sisters and me!"_

_Then the bird-woman flew in a spiral higher and higher, and he could see the cruel talons on her bird-feet. A shadow similar to her own followed her, while many harsh voices joined her laughter. Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him and he whirled about. There was the bird-woman again, in his face, her sharp claws gripping him, tearing his flesh. The pitiless mouth snapped at his throat and he smelled the foul breath. He felt himself falling and everything vanished in darkness. He screamed—_

"Peter!" Wendy softly held the weeping, twitching boy who seemed to fight an invisible opponent. "Peter, wake up. It's only a nightmare!" She wrapped her own blanket around him, too, and laid her head upon his. "Shhh, Peter, it's alright. No one will harm you. I promise!"

Tinker Bell also woke up with the noise of his thrashing, and peered at the girl holding the boy. Yes, Peter sometimes had nightmares, and he never remembered them. But this time, it was different. He seemed to be fighting someone who attacked him in his sleep, his face was a mask of pain and fear, pale and sweaty. "Peter!" Wendy shook him.

This time it worked, and the boy sat up, gasping. As if still seeing the horrible apparition, his eyes quickly searched the enclosure, and he didn't seem to recognize anyone until the girl wrapped one arm around his shoulders and laid her cheek carefully at his, soothing him by rocking him gently and humming a melody in his ear she had learned from her mother. At last, Peter's eyes focused and he rubbed his face, before he shrugged off his friend's comforting embrace and straightened his shoulders.

"Thanks," he murmured hoarsely and gave the boys a sheepish grin. "Huh, that was a quite dream. I sure don't like ravens anymore!" The boys laughed nervously, glad to see him back to normal, and Peter took the bowl of water he'd placed beside his pallet, and only Tink and Wendy saw his fingers trembling. "Go back to sleep, lads. Sorry for the commotion," he grinned at his friends and lay back down again. His gaze found Wendy's, who still knelt beside his pallet. "Thank you," he whispered and gave her a soft smile. "What was that song?"

"A lullaby my mother sang to me when I was little and scared."

He lifted a brow and smirked: "You? Scared?"

She blushed and nodded. "A long time ago."

"It must have been long ago, since you now fight pirates," he smirked and lay back again under the warm blankets.

Wendy giggled. "Yeah – with the courage of despair, in Hook's case," she added quickly and met her friend's amused glare, while Tinker-Bell sat down beside his head.

"You faced him down. That's more than most people could manage. So don't apologize." He yawned. "Go back to sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a hard day, judging from the wind outside."

"Will you be all right?" she asked quietly and the boy put on his cockiest face.

"Of course. Hey, it was only a bad dream. Don't worry."

Wendy wasn't fooled. She knew he was only covering his own uncertainty. She knew him too well by now. With a sigh, the girl nodded and crept back into her own warm bed and silence fell on the Council-Hogan again.

Only Tinker-Bell remained awake. The others, including Peter, may believe that it had been a simple nightmare, but she wasn't convinced of it, for she had felt the dark shadow that had lurked above the eternal boy, and only vanished when Wendy had shaken him awake.

---------------------------------------

Later that morning, the children sallied into the Ancient Forest to visit the elder fairies and the Green Masters. Peter thought it a good idea to ask the hamadryads about the prophecy. The ancient tree spirits knew many mysteries, and were almost as old as Neverland. Possibly they had met the strangers as well, and could explain it more clearly.

So the children started from the Indian village, heading northerly. The Indians had given them provisions for several days, almost more as the tribe could spare. But they reassured the children that the warriors could always hunt for more. The chief offered his help, strong arms, sharp tomahawks and straight arrows, and Peter promised to call for them if he needed support.

Naively shaking their heads, the gang watched John and Tiger-Lily, who seemed to have some difficulty finding the right words to say good-bye. It was Nibs and Slightly who finally pulled him away with them, dragging him giggeling out of the village.

It had snowed all night, and the white mass lay thick on the ground, branches and coppice. So it wasn't easy tramping through the snow, but they hadn't any other choice. It was still windy and a dark twilight. Peter knew that it would be too dangerous to fly now. He was also sure he could feel invisible eyes from above. It would be safer to go by foot to the Ancient Forest.

The children trudged forward for almost three hours, each taking turns in the lead, making a path in the snow. The way was cumbersome and slowly tired them out. They all wore warm clothes now, especially Wendy. Over her nightgown she wore a long-sleeved dress of leather. Over this, she had the long waistcoat she had sewed from the furs and her feet were clad in high warm boots. On top of everything, she wore the ankle-length green cape she had made of the material Peter had taken from the _Jolly Roger_, and Tiger-Lily had given her mittens she made herself, which did fit. The boys wore Indian clothes as well and, of course, the capes.

They were quite a droll sight – children pressing through the snow, clad in the different clothes, armed with swords and covered with raw-edged capes with large hoods. But they were warm and that was all that mattered.

Suddenly Peter stopped and signaled to his friends to be silent. Carefully he listened, but the peculiar noise he thought he'd heard had vanished. Shrugging, he continued, but remained wary. Tink, who had sought shelter in his warm doublet, glanced up to him and nodded. Something or someone was indeed following them –noiseless and taking care not to be seen. The eternal boy hoped that it wasn't the pirates. He really had no time to waste with Hook and his men.

As they reached a small clearing, he heard the noise again. This time, he turned around and looked straight into a thicket; his right hand on the hilt of his sword. The other boys heard it as well, and followed their leader's example. Listening carefully, they fingered their swords. The tall snow-covered trees shut out the most of the twilight, and it was deadly quiet about them. So far, they hadn't met any animal, fairy or any another creature. Even the gnomes had shut the small doors of their cavern-homes in the tree-roots. But now it was something more than eerie. Peter moistened his lips. "Someone's watching us," he murmured to Slightly, beside him.

His second nodded. "Yes. And whoever it is, they're with us most of the time now."

The eternal boy looked quickly at his friend and gripped the handle of his sword tighter. "Wendy? Get to the center! Boys, make a circle around her!" Before the girl could protest, the boys had drawn their weapons and surrounded her, like thorns around a rose. Peter reviewed their formation, then cleared his throat. "Whoever is out there: Show yourself!"

There was no sound; the wind seemed to blow harder. Peter frowned. He hated cowardice.

And there was it again: A shifting of weight under heavy feet – or boots. Pressing his lips together Peter took a deep breath. "Hook? Is it you?" he called with raised voice. "Since when have you become such a coward as to hide from _me?_" Still, the dark voice of the pirate-captain was missing; as well as any other sign that the pirates were near. The eternal boy spat. "I've no time for your sick games. So come out and fight or go back to your stinking boat and get drunk!"

Suddenly something broke through the thicket – something large that roared and hissed. Peter whirled around, startled, while Wendy let out a high-pitched scream. The creature that stormed with lifted cudgel directly toward Peter was twice the size of a grown man and wore a mixture of furs and torn leather. Its skin was grey as granite, its feet heavy as if shod in stone. It had long, pointed ears and a nose far too big for its ugly face. Yellow eyes glared from deep holes, and its mouth opened to reveal sharp brown teeth. It lifted its grotesque arms while a long tufted tail whipped through the air.

"Troll!" Peter shouted, leaping out of the monster's way, thrusting his sword into its side – with no effect. The skin not only looked like granite; it was just as hard.

"The neck!" Nibs shouted. Itching to join the battle, he lunged into the fight.

Tinker-Bell abandoned her shelter in Peter's doublet and took to the air, jingling her warnings loudly. Flying, Peter attacked the beast, sword aimed at the giant's throat. With a speed one would never expect from a bulk that large, it turned and gripped the blade, almost breaking it at the hilt. "Let go!" Peter snarled and kicked at the troll's yaw. It didn't do much good – besides the fact that the boy felt as though he had kicked a rock – but the monster staggered a moment and let go of Peter's sword. As the rough hand with the deadly talons loosened on the blade, they could see it hadn't even scratched the skin.

The other boys saw their chance as the troll fought for his balance, and leaped at him, clinging to his horrid clothes. He growled and hissed and started to spin about. Tootles couldn't hold himself at the troll's back any longer and fell to the ground, barely escaping the beast's stomping feet. Nibs and John hung themselves on the monster's arm to prevent it from using the cudgel, while Curly and Slightly had gripped his other arm. He shook himself vigorously, and the boys were hurled away.

That same moment, Peter was there with his knife and aimed for the troll's throat again, but again the monster displayed its feral reflexes. It caught the boy in midair and hurled him to the ground. "Retreat!" Peter yelled, rolling out of the troll's reach. This was an order his friends would have loved to obey – but they didn't get far. Another troll blocked their way, and as they tried another direction, a third one appeared. "We're surrounded!" one of the twins gasped and his brother nodded fiercely. "This doesn't--"

"-- look good!" his brother gasped in reply, and they stood back to back facing their enemies.

As one of the trolls stretched his long arm out toward John, Wendy bent down for a stone uncovered in the fray, aimed, and threw it. It struck the troll at the head with a hollow 'thunk' and the monster paused, clearly bemused. Beside him, a fourth troll broke through the snowy bracken and roared furiously. Wendy's eyes widened and instinctively she drew closer to Peter.

The eternal boy saw the four of them closing them in. "Wreck and wreckage!" he cursed. "They have us!" His gaze sought out his fairy-friend. "Tink, dust them and--"

He couldn't finish his sentence, because the four giants now attacked as one, swinging their cudgels. There was no time to think, only to react. The boys lifted their swords and even Wendy tried to defend herself against these giant brutes, but she knew with the clear logic of a sensible girl that they had no chance against four of them. She ducked and swung at the troll's legs, but the blow only seemed to dislodge her own teeth. The fiend kicked after her, but she managed it to throw herself away into the deep snow. The troll followed her, snarling, and Wendy prepared herself for her own death, closing tightly her eyes. For a moment she hoped to hear the dark voice of a certain pirate leader shouting, but she desperately knew that this time no Hook was near.

Suddenly, she heard the troll scream, and looking up, she saw Tink before the beast's face; her light glowing like a little sun. Tink had blinded the monster, giving Wendy just enough time to retreat.

Peter fought like he rarely had the chance to do. He struck the first troll over and over again, with grim determination and the fire of a righteous battle, but it was no use. His arms and shoulders were tiring, slowing him down, but still he wouldn't give up. They _had_ to defeat these monsters, or their journey would end here. Suddenly the troll's hand found his arm and he was hurled to the ground with so much force Peter thought every bone was broken. It rang in his ears, and for a dreadful moment, he was paralyzed -- unable to move a single finger -- while he fought to breathe.

Wendy saw Peter taking the blow and screamed. John and Nibs whirled around to her and Slightly, who was first to see the situation his leader was in, ran forward, abandoning the troll he was fighting, ready to protect his leader with his life. But one of the other trolls stepped into his path, reaching for him, and the boy wasted valuable seconds avoiding the rough claws. "Peter! Roll away!" he yelled as he saw the troll raising his cudgel.

Time seemed to slow, and Wendy felt as if she were caught in thick treacle as she turned to go to her friend and the beast, but she knew she would come too late. At her right, Michael and one of the twins had been caught by the third troll, and he was considering just squashing them. At her left, Nibs and Curly tried to protect Tootles against another troll, but they were just seconds from an ugly defeat. "No, please!" the girl whispered. "Dear Lord, it can't end like this!"

Quite unexpectedly, a hiss was heard, and an arrow was suddenly sticking out of a troll's throat, the one considering squashing the two small boys. The giant stopped where it stood, and before he could move again, a second arrow found its target. The monster let the two boys fall, made a gurgling sound in his throat and grew stiff. And then he simply turned into stone – the end promised to a dead troll. The second monster, preparing to bash the eternal boy, stared at its fallen comrade and blinked; foot raised, its malicious little yellow eyes looking around, completely baffled. Then it roared furiously and turned away from Peter, who managed to roll away from his giant opponent, clearly relieved. The two other trolls growled, letting go off the children as well, and turned with lifted cudgels toward the new threat. But before they could form a full thought, a figure jumped out of the thicket and swung something long and silver. Peter took to the air to identify the unexpected help.

He saw a tall, slender form that rushed the trolls with whirling sword. Long, nearly white hair fluttered in the cold wind; a grey cape danced in the air and light boot-clad feet trod lightly on the surface of the snow. Peter could boast that he was one of the fastest sword-fighters of the world (and often did), but even he would have been slow compared to this stranger who overcame the trolls like a tornado.

The shimmering sword seemed to have a life of its own as it pierced the stony skin of the trolls like a knife through butter. The monsters didn't stand a chance. Bigger than their attacker, yes, but the stranger was far superior to them with his speed, strength, weapon and prowess. It only lasted a few seconds, and the three remaining trolls joined their companion as new perches for the Never Bird, monuments to the stranger's skill.

A sudden silence fell over the clearing, and from somewhere the sound of running animals was heard. The children, breathing heavily and brushing the snow out of their hair, stared unbelieving at the newcomer's caped back, one who had saved all of their lives and was able to defeat four trolls in a handful of seconds.

The stranger straightened his posture, forgoing his fighting stance. He sheathed his sword, glared one last time at the four new statues, nodded satisfied and turned around toward the children.

He presented the appearance of a young man, even taller than Hook. He was clad in leggings, shirt, doublet and boots in white, gray and silver colors, decorated with fine intricate embroideries. At his side hung the sword, long and curved, fastened in a beautiful leather sheath. But the children barely noticed any of that, speechless in the stranger's presence.

You rarely hear of "beauty" in connection with a man, but the mysterious rescuer was indeed supernaturally handsome -- beautiful. His skin was white as a new pearl, his long hair as white as the sun in midday, falling to his waist in shimmering strands. It was braided away from his placid face, which was beardless and youthful, and shone with such charm that it almost hurt to look at it. But in his moss-green eyes lay knowledge and wisdom which seemed far beyond his years. His body was slender, and as he walked toward the children, he moved with a grace they had never imagined.

As he cocked his head and smiled gently, a smile both roguish and kind in one, they all saw his short pointed ears. He took a deep breath and looked around him. "I think I got here just in time!"

TBC…


	10. Giliath, TirnioniAgortum

**Disclaimer**: I don't owe the Elfish language, its created by J.R.R. Tolkien. The in this and the fallowing chapters used Elfish language comes from the Elfish dictionary of W. Peatsch and from the internet-side "Elven Phrases" and "mittelerde-portal".

**Chapter 9 – Giliath, Tirnion-i-Agortum **

"I think I've come just in time!"

The voice of the stranger was warm, melodious, even the wind seemed to stop and listen.

Peter found his tongue again and approached, sheathing his sword. Usually he deeply distrusted adults - except the Indians, who were, after all, his friends - but in the presence of this young man, all suspicion grew silent. It was as if a long-forgotten knowledge had arisen in his heart. "Who … who are you?" he asked quietly.

That intriguing smile played around the responsive lips of the stranger, and he introduced himself with a half-bow: "I am Giliath, Tirnion-i-Agortum, Peter Pan."

The boy's eyes widened. "How do you know my name?"

The stranger chuckled softly. "I know all your names. Tootles, Slightly, Curly, Nibs, the twins, Michael and John." His eyes danced from one boy to the next as he recited their names, and then they fell on Wendy. "And of course, the girl who has captured the heart of the eternal youth." He walked over to her and lifted one of her hands to his lips, which made her blush. "Lady Wendy Moira Angel Darling." His smile grew merry as he saw her reddened face.

Wendy shyly dropped a curtsy. "A pleasure, Sir!" she whispered.

"We say: _Saesa omentien lle_," he answered. The language he used was completely unknown to the children, but it almost sounded as if he were singing – exactly as his name did. Then is gaze found Tinker-Bell on Peter's shoulder, who sat gaping at him with open mouth. He grinned, which made him look like an oversized boy. "_Verdui'_, little sister!"

As if suddenly awakening, the fairy clapped her hands in rapture and darted to him like a small comet. Joyfully she jingled and settled on his open hand. Peter blinked surprised. "She never acts like this toward strangers!" he blurted.

The young man with the odd name smiled again. "My people and the fairies have been friends far longer than Neverland has been here. You might say we come from the same family tree."

"You can fly as well?" Curly asked and grinned sheepishly as he met the newcomer's amused gaze.

He then looked down and softly scolded the impatient fairy in his hand: "Don't be angry, little sister. How could a mortal know about us? Our history is fading, and everything the human race learns about us is at best a mixture of legends and fairy-tales."

Thunderstruck, Peter saw his fairy-friend ruefully lower her head without protest. '_What is happening with Tinker-Bell?'_

"What are you?" Twin 1 chirped, asking the question all of them wanted to know.

The stranger bent down to the small boy. "Just guess."

Peter, who had finally overcome his astonishment, drew closer to him and observed the strange appearance of his rescuer. The sun-fair hair, the skin, the look of bottomless depth in his eyes, the tilt of his ears—he'd heard about all of that, even if he didn't know where or when. But once more, there was an old awareness in him, a knowledge that whispered the name of the stranger's race. "You … you're an Elf," he murmured and Giliath gave him a smile that seemed to chase away cloud cover.

"Yes."

The eternal boy swallowed hard. "How … how did you get here? There are no Elves in Neverland!"

Giliath laughed. "Why might you believe that Neverland is forever populated by the same peoples?"

Peter stared, then finally glanced at Tink, who simply nodded. "And why didn't _you_ tell me about this?" he demanded. The fairy shrugged and chimed, what made the boy snort in annoyance. "Because, I never asked? Really, Tink, sometimes you're infuriating!" The fairy stuck out her tongue and turned her head away. Making a face, Peter turned his attention back to the Elf. "Where are you from? And how is it you know our names?"

Giliath lifted his eyebrow. "I am come from faraway, and I am here in this time and place to help you. In preparation, I learned your names."

"How?" Nibs pressed.

The Elf smiled. "Everything in its own time. First we need to leave this place and seek shelter." He returned to the edge of the clearing and retrieved something from the snow near the brush, slinging it about his shoulder. Returning, he wore a long, curved bow on his back and a long quiver with pale shimmering arrows. He addressed Peter. "Have you determined a place we might remain, preferably near the mountains?"

The boy eyed Giliath. "Why near the mountains?"

"The enemy you must face conceals himself near the fire-mountain."

"You know who it is? Who is he and where--?"

The Elf lifted a hand to stay the verbal avalanche from the children "Yes, I know him, and more."

"The prophecy--?" Peter began and the Elf lifted a brow.

"You know of the prophecy?"

Peter nodded. "The Green Men told me, and the Indians let us look at the parchment."

The corner of Giliath's mouth quirked. "So, those with the deep respect for Nature have kept their promise. I knew they would. Did you discern its meaning?"

The boy blushed, mumbling something like "I can't read" and pointed at John, Nibs and Slightly. "They translated it and told me what it says."

Giliath glanced at the boys. "And were you able to read it?"

Nibs shrugged. "The letters are quite strange, but I think we figured out. John's the one who's keen for decoding."

The Elf looked at them with new respect. "That was an extraordinary achievement. We tried to write with mortal signs, but I think they have changed somewhat by now. Do you have the document with you?" Slightly nodded and tapped at his chest, where the parchment nestled beneath his clothes, as well as the leather-piece they had used for the translation. "Very good. I will examine it shortly, and perhaps I can explain it for you, or correct it. But first we must leave this place. It is dangerous to sojourn so long where blood has been shed – especially dark blood. It will lure the sinister myrmidons nearer. They can sense when one of their own falls." He glanced about. "What direction, lad?" Peter pointed toward the north and Giliath nodded. "Good. Time to move!"

Without waiting, he crossed the clearing and walked between the trees. Tink soared beside him without hesitation. The children looked after him in surprise -- had the Elf simply taken command?

Wendy recognized the boys' uneasiness, and whispered: "I think he is accustomed to being in command."

Peter frowned. "Wendy, you know I don't take orders from anyone!"

"But… but he is an ELF!" John interjected in a low voice. "I read that they live on our lands long before us humans, and that they're powerful warriors with great fighting-skills--"

"--which we have seen, John!" Nibs grumbled and nodded into the direction of the former trolls.

John set his mouth grimly. "I also read that--"

"-- that you must venture forth if you have a way to go," Giliath's voice sounded back to them

As Peter glimpsed the bemused expression on the Elf's face, he realized that Giliath Tirnion-i-Agortum had heard every word, and he blushed, frowning. He didn't want to appear ungrateful. He knew that they would all be lying dead, ugly red patches in the snow, if not for Giliath's timely appearance. Quickly he ran toward their rescuer and met the green, understanding eyes, which looked unnervingly deep into his soul.

"Don't fear my interference, young Pan. No adult will ever command your friends when you are near. You are their leader, the one chosen whom they will follow. But every good leader seeks wise counsel, especially when danger threatens. They see things invisible to him. And to hear the wisdom of others is to learn more, for one doesn't know what one doesn't know. And great knowledge is important for a leader."

Peter blinked at him, confused. "Giliath, you may be a wise man among your people, but can't you just talk plain? Because I need more time to understand your words than you need to say them."

The Elf started to laugh - a rich, melodious sound that warmed the heart. "I will attempt to choose my words as you would. But it's not easy. Your language has many words, but often you speak with many words that say nothing."

Peter threw his head back. "Giliath, you've done it again!"

The Elvish warrior laughed with embarrassment. "I apologize," he smiled and looked again like an over-grown boy, like a brother to Peter.

The other children were following, and Peter waved at them, indicating the Elf. "We're following him. But don't let him wrap you around his finger with his words. Next to him, Hook is a complete layman when he reads aloud from his books of poetry."

"Hook reads poetry?" Wendy blurted out in surprise.

Peter grinned. "Speaking in rhyme with twisted sentences and double meanings is poetry, isn't it?" The girl nodded. The boy giggled. "You see, he likes to read. Sometimes stands in the middle of his cabin, holds the book in front of him, and reads aloud a story in rhyme with an actor's voice." He shook his head. "Really strange!"

Wendy glared at him. "And there I scolded him on the beach that he should have become a poet, not a pirate." She sighed. "He really is full of surprises."

"But not the best ones," the eternal boy retorted.

"That depends on the pranks you play on him."

Peter frowned. "He started it!"

The girl lifted a brow. "Really?"

Giliath was listening to them while he easily found a way through the snowy thickets and led the children toward the mountains. "Hook," he said and turned toward Peter. "I am aware of this name. Is he the man whose ship is anchored in one of the bays?"

"You even know about Hook?" Peter queried.

The Elf helped Wendy to climb over a fallen trunk and nodded shortly. "We don't know much. Only that he is a leader of the pirates, and that he and you have a … dispute."

"Dispute?" Wendy asked with a hollow voice. "He hates Peter with a vehemence that is pure obsession. He only remains here to kill him - and us - if it is possible, in the most cruel and brutal way."

Giliath frowned. "Are you sure of this? We have not perceived such a dark fountain of emotions here in Neverland. Why would this man hate you so, Peter Pan?"

The boy grinned in remembrance. "I shortened him," he said dryly. Uncomprehendingly, the Elf glanced at him. The boy lifted his right hand and let his left index-finger glide along his wrist.

Giliath nodded slowly. "I understand. Because of this, he took the name Hook." His face was soft as he gently chided: "For a man - a warrior! - it is a great loss to lose a hand." He cocked his head, a gesture Wendy knew from Peter. "Do you not regret it at all?" he asked and the boy stared at him, surprised.

"No. Not really." He bit his lips. "Most of the time I don't regret it," he added after several seconds, then his eyes took on a far off look, as though he was remembering. And he was. He could remember everything from that fateful day. "He drove me into deep water during a fight and as I lay bleeding in several places, he stood over me. I thought he would kill me. And then--" He sighed. "Then suddenly it happened."

Peter could see the scene as if it had happened yesterday. He heard Hook screaming in agony and saw the blood streaming from his arm, while his eyes found the hand lying next to them, looking for all the world as if it could still wield a sword and fight back.

A sick feeling grew in his stomach, and he quickly shut these memories away. "There was a fight. I didn't mean to do it, but it happened. I tried to talk to him in the beginning, but all he ever wanted to do was kill me. So I let it be, and the rest is history." He shook his head. "And the loss of his hand isn't a problem at all. He has a hook for a tool and a weapon, and he's damn quick with it."

Of course, the Elf recognized the lack of fear in the boy's voice. "Do you avoid him?"

"Why should I?" Peter said, his mood lifting again. "This is my world and baiting the old codfish is fun."

Giliath lifted a brow. "Who betakes himself into danger will be killed by it." He met the boy's glare and grinned: "Lad, this was not a complicated sentence."

Peter started to laugh. "No. It was just beyond the limit." He felt Wendy softly poke him and looked at her. "What?"

"Peter, show a little respect!" she whispered.

To the boy's amazement, Tinker Bell agreed with her. He wrinkled his nose. "I don't think Giliath dislikes it."

The Elf chuckled. "No, especially since humans often speak in riddles and in words with many meanings, and to hear someone speaking straight from the shoulder, as they say, is a welcome change. Straightforwardness is a virtue lost to most humans during the last centuries. This is a disgrace, because it is far more useful for them to speak with unencumbered clarity as well as for the ones they speak to."

Peter threw his hands up. "And another Elvish complication!" He met the amused glance of Giliath and realized that the Elf only had talked this way to tease him. "You did that on purpose!"

Giliath started to laugh. "Only because it's so easy!"

Peter joined him in the laughter. "I know what you mean! It's one of my favorite things!"

Wendy threw up her hands in mock despair. "Lord, have mercy! Two of a kind like this are too many!"

At this, all the boys joined the laughter, and, sighing, she followed her dearest friend and their new comrade.

----------------------------------------

It was already afternoon when they reached the foot of the mountains. Peter first wanted to visit the Green Masters, but the Elf had told them that the Sylvan were slumbering now, driven to hibernation by the cold. They were, after all, a part of the trees. Even the spirits of the evergreens were more asleep than awake during the winter, and it was impossible to get a clear word out of them.

Peter, who had never been in Neverland during the winter, was surprised by this, but realized that Giliath had to be right, though the Elf refused to spend much time discussing it. He seemed to be in a rush to reach the shelter for the night, but when Peter asked him about it, he only smiled and fed him with the hope of answers to come as soon as they were safe in one of the many caves.

The day was dark twilight, and around midday, it snowed again, but they comforted themselves with the fact that the wind had ceased. There was an awful silence in Neverland, only here and there the sound of a branch cracking under its weight of snow, and once they met two gnomes, shoveling snow away from in front of their little doors, grumbling about the weather, in quite a bad mood. The children were quiet most of the time as well - almost as if they didn't dare break the silence.

Something was lurking nearby, they could feel it.

Once, Peter thought he could hear the distant swish of mighty wings, and saw Giliath stopping as still as a mountain, his whole body stiffened. As the noise passed, the Elf signaled them to hurry and had started to progress with longer steps. It was at that moment that Peter noticed -- the Elf left no tracks in the snow! He simply walked on it and didn't sink in like the others. The boy had gaped at him and Giliath, who missed nothing, winked at him.

Finally, sometime that afternoon, they reached the foot of the mountains. The land grew harsher, and large rocks lay tumbled between the trees. Then they passed them piled together in fascinating shapes, like high walls. Mighty trees had plunged large roots in and around them, growing deep to maintain their height among the – usually – moss-covered stones. The thick snow had transformed the sight of the landscape in a most charming way, and if it hadn't been so cold, the children would have enjoyed the grandeur.

Peter led his friends and the Elf through a small gorge where they had to help each other over the treacherous footing. The wild-water had dug itself deep into the bedrock, scouring the rocky sides smooth, now covered in a coat of ice. The winter had turned several falls into long, fantastical icicles, and but for the eerie sighs of the soughing wind through the rocks, you or Wendy might have called the gorge wild or romantic – perfect for a meandering walk on a beautiful warm summer afternoon. But it was not that kind of a day, and so the children only saw the gorge as simply dusky, dismal and very dangerous.

Giliath had taken over as their guide and led the children through the gorge. Not that he didn't trust Peter's knowledge of his own world, but his Elvish eyes were much keener than the humans', piercing even the dark twilight with no effort. Nibs suggested lighting a torch they had brought with them from their hide-out, several of which were tucked in the knapsacks that Slightly, Nibs, John and Peter alternated among themselves. But the Elf shook his head. "There are too many eyes to see its glow, eyes you do not want to recognize us."

All children (except Peter) had looked warily around them, but saw no-one. But Peter had understood what Giliath meant. He, too, had felt the proximity of someone – or something – of evil intent.

At last they reached the elevation behind the gorge and walked toward the stony walls of the mountains, rising toward the skies and the low clouds that threatened them from above. There was a pass ahead that led to the inner mountains of the island, but for now, their destiny was one of the many caves dug by the water millennia before. In the meantime, upstream, the river was narrower, and fell through the gorge down into the woods. It had left caverns reaching deep into the mountain. Most of them the children, now near exhaustion, thought were perfect shelters for the coming night, but Giliath was not satisfied until he found one with a narrow twisted opening, easily watched and guarded, which opened into a larger cave. Here they could make a fire and could talk and move about freely, and not be seen or heard from the outside.

At Giliath's suggestion, the children collected brush, wood, and bracken on their way up to the caverns. It was only a short time before the fire was lit, and a jaunty campfire flared and bathed the cavern in a dim golden light. Peter and his friends welcomed its warmth – especially since it began to snow during the last part of their journey – and unfolded their bedrolls.

Finally, as they sat all around the fire and drank tea Wendy had prepared, using the tea Peter had taken from the _Jolly Roger_, the children's curiosity bubbled over, and they peppered Giliath with questions: Where was he from? How could he know so much about the prophecy? Why he was here? Who exactly WAS their enemy? What was the mysterious weapon that could defeat the intruder? What was his sword made of that it could slice open a battle troll? What brought him into the fight at just the right time? and so forth. And Wendy wanted to know: What did his name mean?

The Elf smiled in an enigmatic arrangement of his exquisite features as he sipped at the tea. Sharing the pot with the girl and the boys didn't bother him. He exchanged a quick glance with Tinker-Bell, who sat on his knee, and took a deep breath. "In reply to your question, my lady: my name has two parts. The first is my personal or given name, bestowed on me by the elders, and the second is my title. Giliath means in your language 'glowing spark' or 'light of the stars'. We bear a long history with the stars and only those with special gifts are named for them. Tirnion-i-Agortum might be translated: 'The son of the watcher of the dell' or 'glen'. Our clan dwells in a special valley."

"What do you watch? Is there a treasure or something like that?" Michael asked with shining eyes.

The tall man chuckled. "Yes, in a manner of speaking. But yea, 'tis not diamonds nor gold, but a great peace one may discover while there, a peace which heals, body and soul, and is more precious to us than any precious gem or shining metal that the mortals so often fight for."

"How can you watch over peace?" John asked, and the other boys nodded, wondering the same. Most of them were on their stomachs facing the fire, chins propped in their hands, snuggled into their blankets, sipping the tea and chewing pemmican and dried fruits they'd taken from their bundles.

The Elf shifted into a more comfortable position: "I make sure no dark creatures overrun the valley, creating disturbance and doing mischief. I care for the plants and the creatures that live there – not with my hands, but with my soul. Remember, only certain Elves are named after the stars. And those of us with such a gift share their soul and living strength with other creatures, healing and strengthening them." His gaze graced Peter with an odd intensity and the eternal boy frowned, then relaxed as the Elf gave him a reassuring smile, again turning his attention back to John and the other children. "Agortum is a delightful, but small glen in the middle of tall snow-tipped mountains. There is only one passage into the glen, and that is overgrown with the type of tree you call maple. Inside the glen is a clear swift-flowing beck, which springs from a waterfall that descends from the mountains." As the Elf spoke, his eyes looked beyond the fire, beyond the cave, and it seemed to them that he was describing something he was seeing right at that moment. His hands moved deftly, gracefully with his words, and they formed the shapes of the things he was describing. You've heard of people that "talk with their hands," simply meaning that their hands are moving while they talk. In contrast, Giliath had turned this ordinary little habit into an art form. The children were enchanted.

"There is a way through the wood, along the waterfall up to the tops of the mountains, and on sunny days you might look all the way to the next great town. In the mountains on the other side of the glen, you can ascend to an eternal glacier, which I've never known to lose any of its ice. Agortum has forests and wide meadows. My clan has built several small houses there, but only a few families remain at all times in the glen and they are mostly healers. The rest you might meet there are guests, those who have to recover from physical or spiritual distress or injury. The combination of healing herbs and _ostimé-i-fea_ -- which means in your language a melting of your soul with another's -- cures nearly everyone who comes; especially in connection with the peace of the valley."

The children had listened, captivated. Giliath's warm light voice painted pictures of his home into their minds, and after two days in snow and twilight they yearned for the warm sunny days they had known on the summer island, flowers blooming and white clouds scudding past in a blue sky. "It must be difficult for you to leave such a beautiful place and to come here into this dark wintry chaos," Wendy said softly.

The Elf shook his head. "We have winter, as well, and sometimes, when the clouds come near the earth and shut out the sunlight, the mountains seem to come nearer and it is dark. This is the time, when everything rests – even my people. It's a time of repairing, of creating art, writing songs and poetry, of visiting other families and friends, and--" his gaze rested on Wendy, "telling stories." The girl blushed, but her eyes shone. Giliath straightened. "But you're right. There is a great disparity between this winter and our winter, for our winter is a normal part of nature's cycle of life and death. But this winter is a result of a dark influence, a power, which none should dare to wake."

He sighed as he met Peter's questioning gaze and nodded. "Yes, young friend, I know. The questions now burning in your heart are more important than what my home looks like." He glanced at Slightly. "Kindly let me see the document and your translation?"

Slightly was somewhat taken aback by the Elf's courteous manner. This kind of politeness was hardly ever seen from a man toward a boy. Ducking his head, he pulled out the translation and the parchment and handed it the Elf.

Giliath quickly scanned what the boy's had scribbled onto the leather, and nodded finally. "A very good translation. I am surprised. One or two words could be changed, but it is sufficient to give you the information you need."

"The prophecy gives us more riddles than information," Peter interjected, "much like the way you talk."

"Prophecies are not to be understood literally, but by their whole meaning," Giliath smiled and earned a groan from the eternal boy.

"There are four questions I need answers for," Peter sighed. "One: who is this enemy? And what is his name? Two: what weapon can defeat him and where can I find it? Three: the prophecy tells of dark creatures that go with him. What creatures? How can they be defeated? What are their weak spots and what are their strengths? And four: who is this enemy that's supposed to stand at my side? I don't have that many enemies. In fact, I can only think of one, and he would never, ever – not for all gold in this world or the next – help me."

"That was nine questions, not four," Giliath teased him and Peter scowled. Then the Elf grew serious. "He has many names, but they all describe the same thing: his character. He is the murderer of hopes and dreams. He descends like a shadow, extinguishes the light of the heart and disappears, after he is certain he now controls you. He rarely uses physical force, but he forces his victims to surrender because they are left bereft of the strength to fight him. He desires only power, to rule everything – the whole world. None recognize his presence until it is too late. And even then the most people do not know what has happened to them. Mortals in my world have given him a name from his essential characteristic: S'Hadh – Shadow."

The initial sibilant sounded like the hiss of a snake. Against Peter's will, a shiver ran down his spine.

Giliath had paused to allow the children to grasp what they had heard, then continued: "In truth, he has subjugated many peoples; especially in the poor areas. It is mostly the grown-ups who are fain to him. They have abandoned their ability to draw new strength and hope from their dreams, like children do. And the children can do it because of Neverland. They visit your world, Peter, in their dreams, or they find hope and joy in the knowledge that there is the second star to the right to guide them through night and so many dark hours. Their cheer and innocent hope is what gives the grown-ups strength as well. S'Hadh knows this and has fought it now quite often – too often. That, Peter, is the reason he is here. He knows that Neverland hinders him, binds him, prevents him from attaining complete mastery. Neverland is a special island – a magical island, where everything is in a delicate balance. Thus, he must disturb this balance."

"The winter?" Nibs whispered, pale under his shock of dark hair.

Giliath nodded. "Yes. It also brings a greater advantage. His creatures will soon be able to roam freely throughout Neverland. Most of them cannot expose themselves to the sun. It hurts them, sometimes kills them. And one thing more." He looked at Peter. "You and the island are coupled together. What happens to you is happening to the island, and the what happens to the island happens to you. He knows this. By burying Neverland in winter he weakens you."

"I am not weak!" Peter protested immediately, his eyes blazing.

The Elf cocked his head. "No strange fatigue? No heavy limbs? No nightmares?"

The boy opened his mouth to contradict – and snapped it closed as he remembered how whipped he had felt the evening before, and how the nightmare shook him.

Giliath took a deep breath. "Indeed. It has begun. And it will grow worse."

Alarmed Peter sat up. "Worse? No! I will stop him--"

"-- but not before you will feel the effects of his curse as they penetrate." He bent forward and took one of the boy's strong hands in his.

Peter started to pull away. He avoided anyone's touch, even had difficulty allowing Wendy to touch him, as much as he secretly liked it from her. But suddenly, the impulse to break the contact left him. He felt a gentle, calming sensation washing over him, and the heaviness in his muscles seemed to drain away – making room for peace and security.

His eyes grew wide and he blinked owlishly at the Elf, who smiled. "This is one of the reasons I am here, Peter. My gift is here for you, to help you to save and to preserve your strength. Trust me, my young friend, you will need it. S'Hadh's might is great, and he will stop at nothing to weaken you further and further."

He looked deep into the crystal blue eyes in front of him, which shimmering in the light of the campfire. "You are strong in heart, soul and mind, Peter. But the opponent you're facing is old – very old, even older than you. He has taken many lifetimes of your kind to discover how to use the black power. And he is quite proficient. S'Hadh is not alone. Many foul creatures of darkness travel with him and they will search for you and your friends. They will not rest until they have fulfilled their one objective: to capture you – or to kill you. S'Hadh sits in the safety of his lair and his underlings are doing the work for him. But one thing has started to work against him: time."

"How?" Peter asked, momentarily feeling uneasy. Then, he sensed how suddenly the newly awakened fear was again draining out of him, as Giliath tightened his gentle grip around his hand – almost as if the Elf could absorb the fright through his skin.

"He is old, Peter. Very old," Giliath answered, his voice still soft. "Even the stolen length of his life has reached its limit. He has to defeat eternal youth quite soon and has to take possession of that power to grow strong again: your power. So he uses everything in his command to take you alive. But as they say in Wendy's world, haste makes waste. And this is your chance – our chance." A soft, impish smile touched his lips again. "You're far more clever and smarter than he."

A cocky smirk escaped Peter. "Oh, the cleverness of me!"

Giliath chuckled. "Yes, this is something he will never understand: why your confidence makes you so strong."

"Like Hook!" Peter grinned. "That codfish will never catch it!"

"Codfish?" The Elf repeated, obviously bemused.

Wendy sighed. "Peter's nickname for Captain Hook. It's about the captain's posture."

"And his way of walking like he swallowed a stick," the eternal boy added with a broad smirk.

Giliath shook his head and laughed quietly. "You only see a foil in him, don't you?"

"Yes, and fun and challenge; Aye!"

Oddly, the Elf seemed to be satisfied and almost relieved when he heard Peter's answer. Then he rose and handed Curly the pot. "I would suggest that you all stay here. I hope to be back before evening, but tomorrow morning at the latest. Don't make too much noise and--"

"Where are you going?" Peter asked and stood up, as well as all the others, each murmuring or shouting protests.

Giliath gave them a soothing smile. "I only found you at midday to save you from the trolls and to make certain that you'd find safe shelter for the night, where S'Hadh's dark henchmen cannot find you. If you hadn't met the trolls, I would have arrived tomorrow, together with my fellows. They're waiting for my return, so that I might lead them hither."

"How did you know about the trolls?" John blurted out.

The Elf sighed. "Some of us have the gift of sight – not in the manner you see, but to look ahead in time or in other places. My sister has this gift and she told me that you were in danger. So I chose to step into your world before my comrades were ready, and now I must bring them here."

"Your comrades?" Twin 1 asked.

"There are more coming?" Twin 2 squeaked and clapped with joy. He and his brother liked Giliath quite a lot, and were excited to meet more of his kind.

"More Elves," Wendy breathed, and her eyes lit up, brighter than the campfire.

Giliath smiled. Most grown-up mortals felt uneasy in the presence of Elves. Their beauty, integrity, wisdom and magical properties seemed only to show up their own imagined deficiencies. Mortals also felt the invisible power of the Elfish race and that power, in connection with their centuries-long life spans, and their predating humans, was often enough to give mortals an eerie feeling. Yes, they respected the Elves, but the most time it was the sort respect you show a complete stranger of another race, one who was also a king or priest. Another aspect of the mortals' uneasiness had to do with their children. The children recognized the Elfish nature as it really was, and they felt safe and secure in their presence.

This was exactly what was happening to Peter, the Lost Boys and the Darlings. Out of instinct, they trusted Giliath completely, even if they had only known him a couple of hours.

Peter had more questions. "How do you pass from Neverland in your land and back?" Then it hit him. "The portal the Green Masters spoke of! I thought they meant S'Hadh's arrival, but they spoke of _your_ coming."

The Elf shrugged. "Even we don't understand everything that the tree-spirits tell us." He grinned shortly. "I must leave. When I return with reinforcements, we will all be safer. So stay here and--"

"What's about that weapon we will need to defeat S'Hadh?" the eternal boy interrupted

This earned him a lift of the eyebrows from the Elf. "Not all weapons are made of blades, Peter. I am sure we will have it soon."

Peter sighed. "You did it again."

"What?"

"More riddles." It almost sounded reproachful.

Giliath laughed. "See it as a challenge. I thought you loved adventures!"

Proudly the leader of the lost boys straightened himself. "Of course I do."

"Of course you do. And this is one." He retrieved his sword and strapped his bow and the quiver on his back. "Be careful while I am gone. And _never forget_ that unholy and sinister creatures are roaming through Neverland, searching for you. I will hasten, but even I will need a some time to explain everything to our council delegate, now with my comrades, and bring them back here."

Peter snorted. "Giliath, we aren't beginners. Don't worry about us." He cocked his head. "When you're all here, what will happen then?"

"We have to find S'Hadh's hideout and a way into it." He was ready to leave. "Perhaps you might make a plan until I am back." He looked at the children and the fairy and bowed gracefully. "_Tenna' telwan san_' – until later then." With these words he left the cavern – quiet as a shadow – in the blink of an eye, leaving no track, only the soft whisper in the children's mind proving they hadn't imagined him.

For a long moment they all stood speechless, looking at the spot where the Elf had vanished. And they all started talking at once. Then Michael sat down and the Twins followed him. "All right. So what do we do until that bunch gets back?"

"Is anyone else hungry? My stomach's hugging my backbone," Tootles grinned, and sat down beside the smaller boys, looking expectantly at Peter.

Wendy giggled and shook her head. "Nothing can spoil your mood, eh?"

"As long as I've enough to eat? No!"

Peter stretched and ran his fingers through his wild curls, grinning at the podgy boy. "That's something I'll never forget about you -- your constant appetite!"

TBC…


	11. An Enemy Intervenes

**Chapter 10 – An Enemy Intervenes**

In no time, they were seated around the campfire eating some of the fare they had gotten from the Indians. When stomachs finally stopped growling, they discussed what they had to do to defeat S-Hadh. No one wanted to wait for the Elves to arrive and devise a plan, but wanted to be able to greet them with their own. Nibs -- the strategist -- John and Peter, who loved to devise campaigns, had a lively discussion about their next actions.

Of course they knew they had to find a way into S-Hadh's haven without his awareness. "We'll have to use spies," Nibs repeated the fourth time.

Peter nodded exaggeratedly. "Yes, Nibs, we know that. But how? He's somewhere near the Mount of No Return, that's all we know. There're several ways to get to him, but we're only nine, and I really don't want us to split up. It's too dangerous for the smaller boys and Wendy. And --"

Suddenly Tink caught his eye. She gave him an odd look and jingled impatiently. Peter stared at her. "Do ... do you think they'd do it?" The golden fairy nodded, folded her tiny arms in front of her chest and lifted a brow. "That … well, that would be wonderful!" Peter blurted out, his face showing his excitement. "Should I ask your Queen about it?" Tinker-Bell nodded and the eternal boy leaped up. "All right. Come on, there's no time to waste!" At a chorus of questions from the others, he explained, "The fairies can spy for us! They are many and small. They wouldn't attract any attention traveling through Neverland. They do it all the time. But I must ask Queen Niam if she would send some of her people out to help us."

Wendy bit her lip. "Peter? Giliath ordered us to stay here."

The eternal boy quickly shrugged on his winter wear. "Yes, you and the boys. But remember, I don't take orders from anyone and besides that, we can't wait. If this stinker is really as bad as Giliath said, then we have to do something as soon as possible." He saw her worry, and almost felt guilty to be the reason for it – even if he didn't know why. Could it be he simply couldn't stand to see her sad or stressed? "Don't worry. I won't be gone long. I'll surely be back before Giliath and his friends arrive."

The other boys glanced uneasily at each other. "Are you sure you want to go out there?" Slightly asked, and his leader nodded.

"I have to. And you'll see: Giliath will be pleased to see results and then he'll know we're not as helpless as he thinks." With that he wrapped himself in his cape, nodded toward his friends and left the cave.

Wendy watched him go, a crease between her brows. '_This is just his way of showing up Giliath.'_

Outside it was icy cold and it was already a dark twilight. Shivering, he wrapped the cape closer around him. Remembering that Giliath had warned him about invisible eyes on the island, and that they mustn't see him, he hid Tink in his clothes to eclipse her light and took the skies. He stayed just over the rocks, then the Ancient Forest as he flew toward the Fairy-Tree where the queen resided and held court.

The wind picked up, but as long as it didn't snow, Peter had no problem finding his way. It wasn't long before he set his feet down near the old, knotty tree that held the underground palace of the fairies in its vast complex of roots. When there with Wendy the last time, they had been privileged to see the fairies dance. After exchanging several shy glances with Wendy, he had danced with her in the warm spring air, and the whole area had been filled with glistening fairy-dust and the sweet noises of the mystical creatures, but now there was no hint of their presence.

Peter sighed – he was learning to hate this – and walked toward the tree where several of the fairy sentries suddenly appeared. They peeked grimly from their warm shelter, but their expressions changed as they recognized the eternal boy. Remembering the manners he had learned as very small child in Niam's court in Kensington-Gardens, he bowed deeply and requested an audience with the queen.

Nodding, one sentry disappeared and Peter hopped about to stay warm as he waited, and looked about. Never before he had this neighborhood seemed so dark, sinister or eerie. The magic which usually poured out of the very earth under his feet and every plant in the surrounding acre had withdrawn. From nearby, he heard a stick crack, and Peter thought he might have heard a growl, one that did not belong to any of the native animals of Neverland.

Feeling a tad nervous, he continued to wait for the queen's appearance. When she finally came, he could only feel relief. (The queen was one whom no mortal man could look upon, or he would be doomed to search for as perfect a woman as she, someone he would never find, and finally die in despair.) Bowing deeply again, Peter explained to the beautiful creature with long golden hair and dress made of silver moonbeams what was happening in Neverland and what he was asking from her.

Niam sighed. She had already determined that the ancient sayings had finally come true. She glanced with affection and tenderness at the eternal boy, a child she had grown to love as much as a fairy could love a human child. Her soft, bell-like ringing punctured the sound of the wind, and Peter's expression turned joyful.

"For sure? Your fairies will help us?"

Niam nodded and lifted her finger in warning.

Peter grinned. "Yes, I will seek shelter immediately and wait until Giliath comes back. But Tink and the other fairies can start their mission?"

The White Lady nodded her tiny regal head, and waved her subject toward her. Tink flew to her queen and made a deep curtsey. They spoke together quietly – so quietly Peter didn't catch a word. Impatient and curious, he danced from one foot to the other as he watched the two magical creatures until Tink nodded to her queen and returned to him. "What was that for?" he asked, but his friend shook her head and chimed something about "Fairy-stuff!"

Shrugging, Peter grinned at her and bowed toward Niam, who smiled and waved at him before she returned to the warmth of her underground palace.

Tink sighed and sat down at his shoulder, telling him in her bell-like fairy-language what would happen next. He nodded, "All right. I'll go back to the cave and you stay here. You'll wait for the others to arrive and then you'll begin searching." His eyes twinkled. "Then you should stay someplace warm until everything's ready." Tink nodded and then cautioned the boy. "Yes," Peter said, annoyed. "I'll go straight back and stay there. Promise!" Finally satisfied, Tink waved and dove into the Fairy-Tree, where two sentries already awaited her.

Peter turned away, peering into the roof of snow-covered trees. He wanted to fly, but he knew he'd only be buried under an avalanche if he tried to go through them. Grumbling, he trudged back toward the mountains.

He really didn't like to walk, especially through snow. It was strenuous and uncomfortable, but in this case necessary. Still wary, he tramped through the dark quiet forest. He thought he heard a snarl here, a hiss or growl there – noises he'd never paid attention to before. Yes, he knew that in the darkness the predators came out to hunt, but this was the first time he felt something like fear, that he might be the prey!

He began to walk faster, and glance around. He could sense the presence of someone else – or something. He was certain of it.

The wind moaned through the branches above, and another snowstorm now beset Neverland. Peter wiped the flakes out of his eyes and pulled the cape tighter around him. He was cold and began to shiver. "Blasted winter!" he groused, bending against the wind and snow. "Where's that stupid clearing?" He lifted his eyes and blinked. Around him were only mighty trees and tall thickets. And they looked strange. He certainly hadn't been this way going to the Fairy-Tree.

'_No! This could not be! He, Peter Pan, did NOT get lost!'_ He knew this island like a gentleman knew his front pockets. Of course he would never lose his way!

But …

But …

Against his will he finally admitted this is exactly what happened. Peter laughed bitterly. "Imagine! Getting lost on my own island! Hook would die laughing if he ever heard about it." Then he turned serious and muttered a curse he'd heard Cookson use. He just wanted to get back to that warm cave, that's all. Instead, he'd have to stay longer in the snow than he thought. He'd simply follow his tracks back until he reached a place he recognized, and then go toward the clearing.

Shoring himself up against the storm, he tramped along his own tracks. The biting wind pierced his cape by now and the snow whirled into his eyes, almost blinding him. Stubborn as he was, he bit his lips and walked with grim determination. He would not give up!

He followed his tracks step by step, and saw that the snow was filling them, making them harder to see. Peter shivered in the meantime. His ears and face hurt from the assault of the wind, his fingers were numb and he couldn't feel his feet anymore. Grim fatigue started to spread through his mind and body – the desperate urge to simply sit down and to rest for a moment or two. But he knew that would be the most foolish thing he could do.

The wind seemed to only around him, but there was more. He now could hear voices in it, hollow, sneering voices, and even though every movement was an effort, he gripped his sword hilt. "Who is there?" he asked hoarsely. The voices changed and he thought he could hear a single one – cold, high, masculine. He didn't understand the words, but he felt the words pierce his soul.

Shivering violently now, he wrapped his arms around him. "Leave me alone!" he whispered and suddenly felt dizzy. His sensible self urged him to go on, to find the way back and to find shelter as soon as possible, but his feet wouldn't obey anymore. The snow whirled around him, tore at his cape and his hair, covering him with its soft cloying weight. Tears of exhaustion welled up in his eyes and with the last of his strength, he made several tottering steps before his legs stopped moving. He didn't know why he was so tired, and at this point didn't care, but he refused to sit down in the snow.

To his left he saw several boulders – so he must have headed toward the mountains – and saw less snow on their leeward side, between two large ones. Getting one last grip on himself, he stumbled toward the rocks, reeling to a spot sheltered from the worst of the wind. His knees buckled, and panting, he fell onto the ground. Rolling himself into a ball he closed his eyes, pulling the cape about his legs. Only a moment – just a moment – he'd feel better, and then …

Peter's thoughts drifted away into darkness.

The forest creatures lay deep in their shelters and watched the many two-legged creatures with the thunder-sticks stomping through snow and darkness. The shy creatures knew that these others hunted them often enough, and so they were very wary as they passed-by their hideouts and watched them vanishing into the shadow.

The pirates stomped through the snow, clearly unhappy. It was icy, the earth didn't sway as they were used to (after all, they lived on a ship) and there were too many unexplained noises around them. Some of them already suspected that they'd lost their way – anathema to a seaman. From time to time one of them hissed a cursed and only the sharp glare of their captain made them shut up.

Hook had ordered his men to be as quiet as possible. The situation had grown increasingly serious regarding the temperature and this blasted storm, so he didn't want to forewarn the boy should he be near. He was certain that Pan knew what was happening to this cursed island and he – James Hook, Captain of the _Jolly Roger_ – would not simply sit by, watching his ship slowly get crushed to pieces. He would interrogate the boy, and if the brat didn't want to talk, he would see a very nasty side of him.

"Cap'n!" Cookson's shout could certainly be heard on the other side of the island. "Look, Sir!"

Cursing, Hook whirled around to the ship's cook and thrust past a surprised Billy Jukes and Cecco. "Mr. Cookson," he hissed. "Is your brain that small that you don't understand--"

Cookson risked a lot as he interrupted his captain. "Sir, look over t'ere!" he pointed toward several big boulders between the trees.

Hook narrowed his eyes against the whirling flakes under the wide brim of his hat, then lifted his left hand to shield them further. At first he didn't see anything, but then he recognized the shape of a small bundle that could be a person, rolled into a ball, taking shelter under the rocks. The pirate-captain frowned. '_Who is so foolish to lie down in this weather? It is certain death.'_ Then he thought he could see a coat or cape, made of leather. A cape, yes ...

Carefully, he approached the insane sleeper – or corpse, possibly – and waved to Smee to follow him with the lantern he carried. The nearer he came, the greater his certainty grew that he knew this cape. Then the wind tossed the hair and Hook saw sandy-golden locks. There was no longer any doubt who lay at his feet: "Pan!" Carefully he closed the distance between him and his young nemesis. There was something mighty strange going on here. His senses were on alert. Full of suspicion, the pirate-captain glanced about.

One might say many things about the boy, but he was not stupid. Even Pan wouldn't lie down in the middle of a snowstorm! No. Something terrible had happened to him. Watchful, he crouched over the boy, ready to react. He knew very well how quick this little pest could be. But the child didn't move a muscle. He lay with his knees pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, also holding the cape. Hook motioned Smee to bring the lantern closer.

"Peter?" Hook began, but didn't get any answer. After hesitating a moment he finally stretched his hand toward the boy and shook his shoulder. "Pan? Wake up!" Still nothing. Hook took the warm glove on his left hand between his teeth, pulled it off, and felt the boy's chest. "Like ice," he murmured, lifting his hook in case the boy was only pretending to be unconscious and turned him on his back. The captain stared. "By the devils of the Seven Seas – what has happened to you, boy?" he blurted at his opponent.

The sun-kissed skin was ashen, dark circles under the long lashes and the lips were blue. "Is he dead, Cap'n?" Smee asked and lifted his lantern a little bit more. The Irishman had seen drowned seamen who had looked healthier than this boy.

Hook pressed two fingers at Peter's throat and felt a very slow pulse. "No. This lad has more lives than a cat. But they might be running out at last."

Smee bit his lips. "Where are his friends and that glimmering insect? They'd never leave him like this – especially not the girl!"

His commander nodded slowly. "You're right, Smee. This is most odd." He pursed his lips and pursued a line of thought.

Here it was: the possibility he had yearned for in the past eternity. Pan lay defenseless before him. completely at his mercy, and this time, none of his friends were about to interfere. He could simply plunge his hook in him, gut him without any haste. He could finally kill him as he dreamed over and over again. The boy would awaken from the pain. He would realize what was happening to him and the buccaneer pictured the agony on his pale face …

Or, he could take him to the ship, try to break a passage through the ice and sail away. And then, on the high sea, he would, with some imagination, provide the boy's demise. But Hook knew that this second scenario wasn't possible. After all, there was this chaos around them – chaos that threatened his ship in its firm grip. Even if he bore no responsibility to his men – responsibility he took very seriously – there was still the _Jolly Roger_, and he couldn't bear to lose her. In addition, all of their lives were in danger from this new peril. And he was certain that Peter Pan was the key to all of this.

So there was no choice. He had to keep the boy alive to get the information he needed.

_Damn._

It really didn't matter if he killed him now or later. Pan was a prisoner -- finally in his power -- and irrecoverable. Of course there would be no mercy after he got the information he wanted, thus he could allow him to live for the time being.

Arriving at this conclusion, he looked at the man with the lantern. "Smee, lead the men back to the clearing we crossed several minutes ago. Light a fire, warm some water and tell Cookson to make some grog. We can all use a rest. And send Cecco to me." The Irishman nodded and slogged back to the waiting crew-members. If the captain's order surprised him, he didn't show it. Hook glanced down on the boy and pressed his lips together. "Damn you, Pan! I don't want to do what I must do now. And I am sure that you will never appreciate it. But I have no other choice."

Hearing the heavy muffled footsteps behind him, he knew that the black pirate had come. Quickly the captain opened his lined cape, loosened his weapon sash beneath it, pulled the sword and sheath out and handed it to Cecco, as well as his glove. Then he opened his over-coat, also lined with warm furs, bent down, opened Peter's cape and pulled the boy toward him and pressed him close, gasping at the corpse-like chill of the boy's body. "Alas, you're cold!" he cursed and closed his over-coat and then the protective cape around him and his youthful prisoner. Carefully he rose and indicated the boy's cape. "Take that with you, Cecco."

Perplexed, the giant pirate did as ordered, and followed his commander, who tramped back to his men. They all stood were had left them, gaping at him. None ever expected to see their commander carrying this boy in such a protective manner. "What is it?" Hook snapped. "Didn't Smee give you my order?"

"Aye, Cap'n," Billy Jukes dared to answer. "But we wanted to wait fer ye, Sir."

The commander breathed steam. "Very thoughtful, Mr. Jukes," he mocked, and walked around them, following their tracks back to the clearing.

Half an hour later, the pirates sat around a small campfire, drank their second or third helping of grog and were quietly talking to each other. Hook sat on a bundle of blankets on a rock near the fire and an additional blanket was wrapped around him. All the protection did nothing to ease the chill from beneath his clothes. The buccaneer quietly wondered how someone could still be alive like this.

He had kept the boy beneath his cape and over-coat, knowing that only his own body heat would save the sorry life of his young foe. Neither shaking nor a slap had been able to waken the boy earlier, and Hook came to understand that even Peter Pan had to occasionally do obeisance to Nature's laws. Yes, he was loathe to warm the brat – Pan, of all people! – but circumstances demanded it. Therefore, he had done what was usual at sea to help someone who was cold unto death, usually from falling overboard. He forced down a mug of warm grog into the child and kept him warm in his arms. He simply ignored the unbelieving gazes of his crew, and watched Peter's pale face. He knew that his men didn't understand, but he was the captain and they the crew. What did they knew about strategy, tactics, and reaching a goal?

"Sir?" Smee asked quietly beside him, "do ye want a glass?" He lifted his own cup of grog and Hook sighed.

"Yes. But not before this block of ice is awake."

The other man glanced through his water-speckled glasses at the boy. "Will he make it?"

His commander shrugged. "He's tough – and damn stubborn. His will to live his almost as strong as mine. I think he'll survive. Hopefully."

His boatswain blinked. "Sir?"

Hook lowered his voice. "I am certain that he knows what is happening here. And if we do not soon find a way to break this winter, our ship will be not only remain stuck, but crushed by the ice and we are damned to remain on this cursed island for ever – however long this might be, considering the circumstances." He sighed and shifted the boy's weight in his arms.

Suddenly he realized how small the boy was. He _was_ a child, barely reaching Hook's shoulder when they stood face-to-face. But regarding his size, the boy was surprisingly skilled, and once more, Hook's conscience gnawed at him that his enemy, the one he had sworn to kill, was a child. _'Bad form to want to kill someone who is so much smaller and younger than you – someone a grown-up should protect!' _his inner voice whispered, and groaning he closed his eyes. No, not that nonsense again! This 'little boy' was older than he, he was sure of it. This boy had cut off his hand, had tried to kill him and—

Almost in his left ear, a low moan startled him, and he looked down at the foe in his arms. The long lashes started to move and another pitiful sound came from the blue lips. "He's waking," he murmured and pulled a part of the blanket higher to shield the boy's face against the wind. "Come on, Pan! Open your eyes!" he urged Peter and shook him. "Wake up! I don't believe that you'd surrender to a handful of snow-flakes!" He looked at Smee. "Another grog, hurry!"

The first thing he heard was the wind in the trees. And a fire crackling. The next thing he recognized was a gentle heartbeat beneath his ear and an arm that supported him. Something warm, almost hot, touched his lips and he cried out. With him feeling so cold, it almost burnt his mouth, and then his throat and stomach as the liquid flowed into him. But yet, it felt good. It was warm, while the rest of his body was still so … cold! It hit him like a hammer. The chills seemed to afflict every inch of him and paralyze him, forcing his heart to slow, and shutting out every other perception.

So cold … he couldn't even shiver, and he yearned to roll himself in a ball, but his limbs didn't work. From somewhere in a fog, he heard a dark voice command him to swallow and to wake up. He didn't want to wake up. It was just too disagreeable. He wanted only to sleep again and forget the cold. But the voice wouldn't let him, and forced the hot liquid down his throat again. The arm around him tightened its grip. "That's a good boy. Drink!"

For the first time, the words made sense, and chased away the paralysis that held his mind. "Yes, drink, Peter!" More hot fluid was poured into his mouth, and he had to cough. And that woke him completely. He gasped for air and forced his eyes open. Instantly, the world started to spin around him and quickly he shut them again. Good Lord, did he feel awful! He heard a chuckle at his ear and a mocking voice: "Welcome back to the land of the living, Pan." He thought he should know this voice. But somehow he couldn't put a face to it.

He was weary … so unbelievably exhausted … and finally feeling warmer, he snuggled closer into the warm chest and strong arm he was leaning on, ignoring the prickling in his thawing extremities. The rhythmical heartbeat of his rescuer began to lull him again, and instinctively he buried his face into the velvety material beside him. A wave of well-being washed over him, and sighing, he began to drop off to sleep again.

Someone above him cleared his throat. "Either you are not yet truly awake, or you've forgotten that we both are not the best of friends. But then, your memory was never the best."

Yes, he knew this voice. It was very familiar, and for some reason it made him uneasy. And then the words about them not being friends… In his mind, he saw a sun-browned masculine face, framed with long dark locks, shadowed by a hat decorated with feathers, two deep blue eyes, a well-trimmed moustache framing an arrogant mouth with a cruel smirk, and a name came to Peter's mind – a name that meant danger: Hook.

From one moment to the next, Peter was wide-awake and lifting his head, he saw the familiar face of his mortal enemy, who smiled cynically. "I am tempted to call you 'Sleeping Beauty', boy, but that name is already reserved for our pretty storyteller."

At this point, Peter was still far too exhausted to feel any real fright, but nonetheless, his mind was churning. This couldn't be happening! It couldn't be Hook who held him so comfortably and to whom he had burrowed only moments ago. Hook would never do this! He would only kill him and … and maybe he only waited for Peter to awaken before tearing him with that metal claw ... This thought was enough to inspire action, fatigue and pain be damned. With a cry, Peter jerked upward, but the man's arms tightened on him, holding him back. The boy struggled to free himself from the grip of the pirate-captain, but it was no use. The buccaneer's arms were like iron bars; a man trained and in his prime versus Peter, still a boy and still quite weak. So it wasn't hard for Hook to hold the boy still.

Peter gasped for air and he thought his whole body might break apart, it ached so badly, but still he tried to escape the grip of his mortal enemy with the last of his strength. He never thought it would come to that – that Hook would get him, here, on his own island, but now he'd been successful, and Peter knew he would be killed within the next moments if he didn't escape this foe. Then, too, he remembered that Giliath told him what would happen should he die before they could defeat S-Hadh: Neverland, his friends and the world outside of Neverland would be lost. This was more frightening than the prospect of his own death.

"Let me go!" he screamed; the unfamiliar feeling of panic washing over him.

"I think not, boy!" Hook sneered back. "Do you really think I would release you back into this storm? It's pure luck that you're still alive!"

Peter didn't listen. "You don't understand," he gasped. "You can't imprison me now. Neverland--"

"Neverland is being threatened, and you're the key to getting us out of this danger. Do you really think me stupid?" Hook interrupted him sharply. Peter used this interlude to collect his strength, and sprang into action. Again he fought the pirate, but Hook had been on guard, feeling the boy gathering himself for a new attack, and now pressed the back of the hook to Peter's throat. Peter stilled, eyes wide, panting. "Stop this nonsense, brat!" the buccaneer snarled. "Do you really think you'd still be here if I intended to kill you?"

"You just wanted me awake for the fun!" Peter shot back, not intending to die – not now, not ever, one of the reasons he had chosen to stay a boy. (Didn't you know that? Peter had discerned that only grown-ups could grow old and die.) But once again he stood at the threshold of death. And it would not be in a fight, as he had always imagined, but he would simply be murdered – painfully, brutally, with no way of escape.

Hook grinned his feral smile. "I'm amazed how well you know me, Pan." Rough laughter came from nearby, and the boy realized that Hook wasn't alone. Escaping was now a little more complicated, and there was no croc nearby to interrupt them. The fearless boy felt the enemy --fear -- dancing on his chest, and he was reminded of the threat to Neverland and the peril his friends were in, who would die here in the grip of winter or by the dark creatures roaming the island.

With another shout, he gripped the wooden cuff holding the hook, and tried to wriggle free, a look of grim determination on his face. He would never show his enemy fear! Never!

A growl escaped Hook's throat. Was this urchin, this hooligan so stupid that he didn't realize why he was still alive, and not slit from throat to navel? "If you don't quit this, Pan, you'll get the thrashing of your life. I swear it! I don't intend to cut your throat at the moment, boy, but I will beat you within an inch of your life!"

Peter, exhausted, hardly believing his own ears, released the wooden cuff. "You would let me go?"

Hook shook his head. "If I let you go just now, you wouldn't get far. You're still chilled to the bone. How can you tell us how to fight this disaster when you're frozen to death?"

Peter didn't answer. He hated it when Hook was right, so he stared at his nemesis, not the slightest bit convinced. "Why should I believe you?" he whispered.

"Even I know there's something very wrong going on here," the pirate-captain hissed. "And if there are answers to be found, you'll have them!"

Still panting, Peter narrowed his eyes. "Since when are _you_ interested in the business of Neverland, if it has nothing to do with catching me?" he asked, his voice challenging.

The forget-me-not-blue eyes above him held a restrained wrath and an odd kind of concern. "The ice in the sea grows hour by hour. I will not watch my ship be crushed and sink!" Hook was most reluctant to share his concerns with the little pest, but he went on. "I am accustomed to the fact that winter comes to this damn island whenever you are away, but this weather has nothing to do with your absence. It's never this bad when your cursed behind is in London or somewhere else recruiting rascals. Therefore, I need you alive to acquire the information I need to save my ship and my men!"

Peter lifted a brow. "And if I can't give you any information?"

He saw a flash of alarm on the man's brow, then a cruel grin appeared on Hook's face. "Then, my dear boy, you are no use to me, and you'll end your existence like I've dreamed for years – here and now." He lowered his voice and pressed the hook harder at Peter's throat, whose breath stilled in his throat. "The only reason I haven't gutted you is my instinct that you know quite a lot about this weather." He cocked his head; his eyes trying to pierce Peter's soul. "Am I right, boy? You do know about it?" There was a silent threat in his question, even if his voice was suddenly quiet.

Peter knew this enemy. He knew that the pirate-captain was most dangerous when he talked like this. If he – Peter – didn't answer Hook's question he would die. Now. There was no doubt. Inhaling carefully, he murmured, "Yes."

The buccaneer nodded. "Well, I'm listening."

The other pirates drew nearer and Peter glanced skeptically at his enemy. "And when I've told you what I know, what then? May I go?" He had intended for that to sound cocky, but Hook knew every nuance of the boy's voice. Of course he recognized the hidden trepidation in it.

"I don't believe it!" he mocked. "Peter Pan, finally scared of me. You don't know how much this delights me, boy!

"I am not afraid of you, codfish!" the boy hissed with flashing eyes, completely forgetting the sharp blade at his throat.

"Don't. Insult. Me. Pan!" the buccaneer snarled with so much venom in his tone that Peter jerked back, a new expression in his eyes. "If you really want to survive the next few minutes, then you should beg for my pardon just now! And loud enough for my men to hear you!"

Peter stared at him, realizing that Hook had to regain the upper hand while in the presence of his men. He could feel the pressure of the hook digging into his skin, and stammered, "I … apologize!"

Hook held his gaze for another long moment, hard and angry, then relaxed a bit. "Stay with me under the blanket while you tell us why Neverland is smothered in snow. This is the only time I'll ever offer you the warmth of this blanket and my cape!" The boy nodded, shaken by the threat and his own reluctantly political capitulation. Hook lifted a brow. "Do I have your word that you won't try to escape or some other foolishness?" Again, Peter saw no other way, and nodded. The captain straightened, removing the hook from the boy's throat. "Now speak, boy!"

Breathing deeply, Peter cleared his throat. Sitting essentially in Hook's lap made him nervous, but he would never admit this. On the other hand, he was aware of the shelter the blanket, cape and the man's body offered. Now that the initial danger had vanished, the boy felt the air more intensely, and he had warmed up enough to begin shivering again. He tried to fight against it, but this time the nature of his body was stronger. He was still half frozen, and the security and warmth of the buccaneer's arms were tempting. Peter didn't even realize that he leaned closer to the chest of his enemy and sought his protection against the weather as he started to talk. And he never even noticed that Hook pulled him nearer, that his long arms held him in an embrace, sharing warmth with the boy.

In an uncommonly subdued voice, Peter told the pirates what had happened. Hook only interrupted him here and there, when he wanted to know more details, otherwise he let him speak. Peter told his opponent as much as was necessary and as little as possible. He let out certain parts of the prophecy as well as the appearance of Giliath. For some reason he thought that it would be better, or maybe he simply distrusted Hook, understandably. "Then this strange weakness came over me, and I couldn't stay on my feet," he finished his story, which was – to their displeasure – no story at all. "I saw some shelter beneath the rocks, and then everything went black. The next thing I knew, I awoke here."

He glanced up to the pirate-captain, whose mouth was grimly set. He wasn't the only one. All the pirates sat silently around them, each with his own expression of grim danger. Lost in thought, Hook looked into the dancing flames of the campfire. "If I understood you correctly, Pan, then the island and the sea will be destroyed if this ... this dark man, this wizard, manages to kill you."

The boy nodded. "Yes. The snow is only the beginning and it's going to get worse as the days go by." He sighed and looked straight into the pirate's ever so blue eyes. "You have to let me go, Captain. If I don't stop this madman, everything will be lost. Not only Neverland, but the other world where Wendy comes from, too."

Hook pursed his lips. "By the way, where is our little beauty?" Damn it. Why did he care? Hadn't he forbidden himself to waste another thought for this bitch?

Peter glared at him. "Safe," he answered shortly.

"And cold!" Hook heard himself saying, to his own horror. '_Hold your tongue, James! It is of no interest to you if she is warm or not. She will die anyway when you find her!'_

"Do you really think I can't look after my friends? Of course she's warm!" Peter retorted, clearly annoyed.

Smee interrupted the budding quarrel. "Sir? T'at doesn't sound at all good to me. How shall we fight against a wizard? We're strong, after all we're pirates, and are accustomed to fighting, but against magic?"

The other buccaneers grumbled, affirming,

"That could cost our lives."

"Cannons are useless against magic."

"As well as swords."

"He can bewitch us!"

"Coo, 'e could set us afire where we stand!"

"Silence, all of you!" Hook barked and cut off the comments of the men. "There is a way to fight against this magic interloper. Am I right, Pan?" He glanced intensely at the boy, who nodded slowly. "And you're sure that you've told me everything you know?"

Peter swallowed around his caution. "I've told you everything I can."

Hook narrowed his eyes. "Good. That's all I wanted from you."

A new thought spread icily through the boy. "And now?" he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse. "I can't fight against S-Hadh, if you hold me prisoner." His beheld his enemy's face. "And if you kill me now, you'll free the way for S-Hadh, and not only Neverland but you and your ship will be lost, too."

"I understand this, Pan!" the pirate-captain snapped back at the boy in his lap. "I use my brain for thinking, not for hatching silly pranks!" He sat quietly, thinking, and Peter didn't really dare to hope. Maybe Hook was smart enough to set his lust for revenge aside and let him go. If not … well, Peter didn't want to think about the consequences. He would never beg, not even for his life, but he wondered what was going on in that pirate's twisted head.

The buccaneer sat in silence for a while, gazing into the fire, absently chewing the end of his moustache. To Peter, it felt like an eternity. He knew that the pirate-captain was weighing his decision to let him live or to finish him off, and he felt more and more uncomfortable where he was. Finally Hook took a deep breath. "I will not allow my ship to sink!" he said slowly and fixed his gaze on the boy. "So willy-nilly, I have no other choice than to support you in your fight against the chaos that not only threatens this accursed island, but my ship as well."

His men stared at him in perplexity, and Peter's expression looked much like theirs. If the situation hadn't been so serious, he would have laughed at them all. Wide eyed, Peter looked at his mortal enemy. "You … you want to help me?" he gasped after he had found his voice again.

"This is not about 'wanting to help', but of not having any other choice to prevent the _Jolly Roger_ from being turned into kindling."

Peter blinked and searched the face of his nemesis for a sign that he had made a cruel joke. But rarely he had seen such a serious expression on Hook's countenance. And the fact that the pirate was not about to kill him, but would even help him, sank into his mind. Relief washed over him, and for a moment, he had the strong urge to laugh aloud. Only his pride kept him from showing what he truly felt, for that would have given Hook too much satisfaction.

Peter suddenly remembered the prophecy: _'If the enemy helps the enemy, and if young and old are going the same way, then the dark one has to fall.'_ He glanced up at his mortal foe. Could Hook really be the enemy who would stand at his side? Hook? Of all people? Yes, the pirate-captain was his worst enemy, and he had offered him his help only moments ago. The prophecy _HAD_ to mean Hook.He was now, at last, certain of this much.

Frowning, the buccaneer watched the emotions flitting across the boy's face. Of course, the little pest was relieved that he had decided to let him live. Peter might be stubborn and cocky, but he still wanted to live – something Hook had once thought the boy never considered. And then it dawned on him that he had concluded an armistice with no one else but Peter Pan. He had to fight down a moan. _'Sometimes you have to howl with the wolves!' _he thought sarcastically. But what was that last expression on his face, the one of surprised revelation?

Peter blinked into the falling snow and felt himself relaxing again. Finally, negotiations concluded, his fatigue returned. He didn't even realize that he yawned and that his eyes started to close. The exhaustion that had been held at bay because of Hook's proximity was returning at last, and started to overwhelm him.

"Where are your friends, Peter?" Hook plunged into planning the next steps. "I think it would be the best, if--" He stopped when he heard the second yawn. "Do you really think that this is the best time to sleep?" he asked, and Peter grinned sheepishly.

"So tired!" he murmured and swallowed the next yawn.

Hook shook his head. "I know freezing to death can be stressful, but--" He frowned. "Peter?"

The boy had relaxed against his chest, and his peaceful expression proved that he had fallen asleep again. Unbelieving, the captain stared at his young foe, who snuggled nearer to him in the innocence of sleep, seeking his warmth, finally lying still. His breathing was deep and steady, and he looked for all the world like any other sleeping child -- like an angel. "'Falls asleep as if in a father's lap!" Hook growled, amazed. And something of the peaceful picture that the sleeping child in his arms represented touched a part of him that he so desperately tried to lock away and ignore.

"He feels safe with ye, Cap'n," Smee chuckled, tossing more wood on the fire, and grinned as he met the shocked glance of his commander.

"Safe? with me? Thank you so much, Smee! That is exactly the reputation I need on this island!" he commented with his own, black humor. Swearing under his breath he stood up, holding the boy securely in his arms. "Place two blankets near the fire, Mr. Mason!" he ordered and the gunman hurried to fulfill his commander's order. Then Hook laid Peter upon it and covered him with another blanket and his own cape. "I am not a pillow, Pan!" he grumbled and returned to his perch.

For a long moment it was silent, then Cookson asked: "How will ye proceed against t'e wizard, Cap'n? Do we 'ave a chance?"

His commander looked sharply at him. "I don't deal in chances, Mr. Cookson. We will fight, if necessary, to the death. James Hook _does not_ retreat!" He shook his head. "But you're right. This enemy does not fight with weapons we are accustomed to. But we will--"

A movement in the bushes alerted him and quickly he gripped his pistol. His men tried to pull out their weapons as a sharp voice rang out, "Don't move!"

TBC…


	12. A Meeting of Allies

Chapter 11 – A Meeting of Allies 

"Don't move!"

The voice seemed to come from everywhere, from nowhere. Hook peered sharply about and suddenly a figure appeared at the other side of the campfire, almost as if he'd risen out of the ground in a wink of an eye. Strong, white fingers held a mighty longbow and an arrow was pointed between Hook's eyes. A touch of wind enlivened the campfire, briefly illuminating the stranger. In his presence, neither Hook nor his pirates could find the strength or will to draw their weapons in defiance.

James Hook had met many fighters -- many enemies -- in his life, and in days when he still lived among England's nobility, he knew men who impressed with their appearance. But not one of them could hold a candle to this stranger, who beheld them with clear green eyes and wielded the terrible bow with an easy strength. The stranger's face was youthful and manly in one, more beautiful than a Greek statue. The captain had always been proud of his black curly mane, but it was nothing compared to that thick pale silk that danced in the wind. The tan leggings, the silver white doublet and the silk shirt revealed just how slender and muscular the stranger was.

Hook would not underestimate him. The stranger might appear young and graceful, but he was warrior, through and through. The expression in his eyes told the tale. The buccaneer cleared his throat and looked quickly about. "Stand down, brutes!" he ordered and directed his attention back to the young man. "Who are you, and why do you threaten me, even if we have never met before, Sir?"

The arrow didn't move. "I am Giliath, Tirnion-i-Agortum. And the boy you're holding prisoner is under my protection!"

Hook rose slowly and the arrow followed its target. "Indeed?" he asked. "Then you must be relieved to find him unharmed and safe."

"Safe? In your presence, Captain Hook?"

The buccaneer lifted both brows. "You know my name?"

"I know enough about you to see the danger Peter is in. I know of your distaste for him. And I know that you are obsessed with the desire to kill him. Free him now and no harm will come to you or your men!"

Nervously the pirates looked between the stranger with the odd name and their commander. They knew Hook well enough. He did not bargain, and he never gave in. And it was certainly a mistake to threaten him. "Then no harm will come to my men or me?" Hook repeated slowly, his voice dark and dangerous, while his eyes began to flash. It was obvious he wasn't intimidated. "You might shoot me with your arrow, and perhaps kill me, young man. But my men are many and you are one. You wouldn't get very far. And believe me, they wouldn't take the murder of their captain very well. Put down your bow, and perhaps we might talk."

The stranger did not move. "You think me alone, Captain? Thalion_! Tula sinomé!"_

A rustle, and more than two dozen stepped out of concealment; all similar in appearance and dress to the first. They bore long bows with arrows on the string, aimed at the startled buccaneers. "Will you free the boy now, Captain?" the stranger asked firmly of the sinister man by the campfire.

Hook remained unmoved as he contemplated this turn of events. He knew soldiers when he saw them, for his life depended on it, and these men were soldiers, even if he didn't recognize their uniform, nor the country they represented. Then he saw the reason for their unfamiliar dress. It wasn't the ancient uniform with shining breastplate, nor the leggings and the capes that made them look as if they had came from the Middle Ages. No. He saw the shape of their ears, and realized the race confronting him. He'd never met one of them, hadn't even known they truly existed, but the proof was here before his eyes. '_Great sandy beaches, how has the boy managed to get an army of bodyguards from these people?'_

He cleared his throat. "How has this boy become your concern, Master Elf? Everything I've learned of your people tells us that you do not interfere with the human race."

His men gasped at the strangers. _Elves!_ Most of them had heard legends about this people and they knew that they didn't stand a chance against them in a fight. If Giliath was surprised, he didn't show it. "Yes, for the most part, we let humans alone and walk our own ways. But now--"

"-- but now the circumstances are different. This --" Hook indicated the snow-covered trees around them. "--makes even your folk nervous."

"This isn't your business, Captain," Giliath responded, his voice hard. "Will you give me the boy freely, or must we take other action?"

The buccaneer watched the Elf without blinking. "If you know of me, you should know I don't take orders! Also, this boy is not my prisoner. Not this time. He is asleep as you surely can see. Weakened, he is of no use -- not for me or you. So I think you should leave him here near the fire, instead of taking him about in this damn weather."

All bows creaked – a quiet threat. Smee looked nervously at his commander. "Sir, don't ye think we should give 'em Pan? They don't appear to be open to negotiation."

"You of all people should know me better, Smee. I do not bow to pressure!" he answered sharply. "Pan may have stood under the protection of that young warrior, but now he is under mine."

The Irishman gaped at him. _Protection?_ He knew very well what Hook would mean by that, if the circumstances were different.

"Protection?" Giliath asked mockingly, speaking out Smee's thoughts. "I think otherwise." For one moment, nature seemed to hold its breath. The air was thick with tension as Hook and the Elf eyed one another; neither backing down.

"Giliath?" the boy's voice sounded groggily from the bundle by the fire, and a tousled head appeared out of his woolen shelter. Eyes half open, Peter sat up and looked around him. The voices had reached him even in sleep, and he heard the compelling voice of the Elf, touching him with an unexpected joy, and he had awoken because of it. Bemused, he blinked at the scene around him and he saw many strange Elves threatening Hook and his men with their bows. And finally he recognized Giliath, who glared menacingly at Hook; an arrow ready.

"No fear, Peter. No harm will come to you," Giliath said, his eyes still fixed on the one-handed captain. "To me!"

Peter rubbed his eyes, finally grasping what was happening around him. "No, Giliath! Hook came to my aid!" he shouted, jumped up and threw himself in front of the captain; his arms spread to protect the man. "He found me freezing in the forest and brought me with him. He … he saved my life," he admitted, somewhat reluctantly.

"The boy speaks the truth," Hook said, clearly stunned by Peter's action. He had never thought that Pan would stand up for him. What had happened to the careless boy? And why was this gesture affecting him so? Shoving these thoughts aside, he cleared his throat. "Lower your bow, Master Elf. We fight the same enemy!"

Giliath quirked a brow toward Peter, and the boy nodded. He lowered his weapon and said something to his fellows in his strange, lilting tongue. After hesitating, the other Elves lowered their bows as well and Hook could feel the quiet sighs about him. He couldn't blame the sailors. He admitted – only to himself – that he had also been somewhat alarmed. The stories always told that Elvish arrows never missed their target. And how could they, at this range?

"You are unharmed, Peter?" Giliath wanted to be certain and observed the boy critically. But he could see no injury nor rope marks, so it really seemed to be that the mortal had spoken the truth.

Peter shook his head, "I'm fine. He … saved my life – much as I hate to admit," he added and it was obvious that these words were difficult to say for him.

Hook frowned. "Glad you finally noticed, boy. Perhaps it's time for a little gratitude?"

Peter shot him a glare. "After all the times you tried to kill me, you owe me."

Hook's jaw dropped as he stared at him – that ungrateful, little beast! – and he closed it with a snap when he realized how it looked. Deciding to ignore the boy's impertinence, he turned his attention back to the Elf. "May I invite you and your fellows to our fire to warm up, Master Elf? It is cold – even for your race." His glance fell on Peter, who had wrapped his arms around himself. "And you -- back under the blankets, Pan. Now! Don't think that I intend to warm you all over again!" To his amazement Peter obeyed without any protest and Hook sighed. _ 'I don't believe it!'_

Straightening, Giliath moved across the snow between the pirates to Peter. Another Elf, even taller than he, the only one with darker hair, followed Giliath. Strange signs were fixed on his breastplate and on the fastening on his cape, and Hook concluded that this man was the leader of the little army. "What befell you, Peter?" Giliath addressed the eternal boy and crouched beside him. "I thought you remained in the cavern with your friends – safe and sheltered."

Peter had dug back into the blankets. "Tink had an idea about how to find a way into S-Hadh's domain. The fairies can help us find a passage into the mountains without the wizard's knowing. So Tink and I went to Niam, the fairy-queen, to ask for her people's help. She agreed and Tink and the other ones are already scouting the island." He frowned, biting his lower lip. "On my way back to our shelter, I --" he glanced sidelong at Hook, who was listening closely, and the boy decided to not mention certain events, "-- I suddenly felt cold, and the wind and the snow took all of my energy and will to keep going. So I slipped between some rocks, and then everything went black."

The Elf lifted one delicate brow. "Are you sure that you didn't hear anything before the darkness took you away? No voices?"

Peter's brow crinkled, trying to remember the last horrible minutes before he fainted and nodded slowly. "Yes, there were murmurs in the wind and then--" he hesitated a moment, "and then I thought I heard a high shivering voice."

"What words did it speak?" Giliath prompted.

Peter closed his eyes, and screwed up his face, trying very hard to listen to hear it again, but it had been a very black time, but he could discern no words. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember!" His eyes found his Elfish friend's companion, who stood still across the campfire, apart from the other Elves. "Who is that? The reinforcement you went to meet?"

Giliath smiled and gestured toward the other Elf, who passed the buccaneers without a glance. His face was handsome as the others, but there was a steadfastness upon it that showed his designation. "This is Thalion, one of our finest commanders-in-chief," Giliath said, and the other man smiled a short, but very winning smile, laying his right hand on his chest and bowing slightly.

Thalion watched the human boy who didn't want to grow up, and on whose shoulders the fate of millions lay. He saw courage, audacity and deep-rooted _joie de vivre_, but also the pallor and the growing weakness. Yes, they had come just in time, but a very difficult path lay ahead for the child. Nevertheless he bent down and offered Peter his hand in the human way of greeting. "_Elen sila lumenn omentilmo_," he said with a deep, warm voice that seemed to chase away the darkness from the skies above Neverland in that moment.

Peter took the offered strong, slender hand and asked almost shyly: "What does that mean?"

Thalion replied with an almost amused look, "A star will shine on the hour of our meeting," he translated one of the friendliest of Elvish greetings.

Remembering the manners Niam had taught him all those years ago Peter bowed, still seated. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

Hook's eyes narrowed at the mystical man and this damn little brat, and he shook his head. "Would you look at that? He knows how to behave!"

Peter shot him another glare. "Of course I know how to behave! But you're a pirate. So why should I be polite to you?"

"Perhaps for the same reason it is good form to treat all adults with respect?" the pirate-captain growled, and the boy started to grin.

"Yeah, you're a grown-up – and an old man with no sense of humor."

"Does this surprise you?" the buccaneer hissed. "You're the one who killed it!" He lifted his hook, which glimmered red in the firelight, the one on his truncated arm.

Peter made a face. "You always have an excuse for your bad mood, cod--"

"Don't say it, boy! You are clearly not in a position to throw names at me!"

Giliath sighed. "Forsooth, gentlemen, I ask that we all restrain ourselves. We really have no time for this foolishness." This time two blue pairs of eyes shot glares at him, and he chuckled. "I fain would ne'er impose myself between the two of you, but you will need all your strength to face the coming darkness."

For a long moment, Hook and Peter glared knives at each other, than the pirate-captain waved to Smee to unfold their last three blankets. "Please sit down, my lords. A warm drink and a little rest will calm all our nerves." He glanced again at Peter. "And if you don't go back under those blankets, I will happily dig your grave tomorrow!" Peter stuck his tongue out at him, but closed the woolen shelter about himself.

Giliath and Thalion sat down beside Hook, while their fellows moved between the other pirates and sat down between them. The pirates were clearly uneasy, and uncertain gazes greeted the bright, graceful strangers, but none of the _Jolly Roger's_ crew dared say anything. Smee offered both Elves beside his commander a grog. "T'is'll warm ye, Sirs."

Thalion took the cup and looked on the grey-haired bo'sun. Yes, this mortal was old and odd, but he wore his heart in the right place. "Thank you. We Elves don't perceive the weather as your race does, but the boy needs his rest, so we are pleased to receive your offer, that we might keep vigil over him."

Hook looked with a raised brow at him. "Did you just say don't trust me?"

The Elvish commander paused, then answered, not unkindly: "Not necessarily. But humans will many times send their words where their hearts refuse to follow."

Peter grinned from beside the fire. "That's one of those Elvish sentences. You just have to get used to it, Hook. Giliath does it all the time."

The pirate frowned. "He speaks from experience and wisdom, Pan, not the silly jibes you employ!"

The boy chuckled. "You really should work on your mood, Captain. Even you can't always be _that_ dismal."

"Dismal?" Hook hissed softly. "Perhaps I'll get to show you what I'm like when I'm really 'dismal'."

Peter yawned. "Words, words, words! You're good at that." He rubbed his eyes.

The buccaneer pressed his lips together. "There! Scarcely have I forced myself to allow you to live, and you recklessly insult me!"

The boy giggled, clearly tired. "Nothin' I can do about it. You have that effect on me."

"Oh, I can have an effect on you, Pan, one far less benign," the pirate-captain growled, eyes narrowed.

Peter yawned again and tugged one of the blankets higher to his chin. "Huh. Not about to quit just because you threaten me."

"No, the Thames will run dry before you'd take the hint and shut your yap." He paused, then added reflectively, "I refuse to be goaded by words."

The boy lifted his head, his eyes reddened with weariness, but with a sparkle in them, "And because I have the stronger will between us, you're angry."

"You?" Hook gasped, "who only minutes ago lay in my arms terrified for his life?"

A grin spread over Peter's features. "I knew you'd listen if I told you what was going on. I knew that you wouldn't hurt me if you were convinced you were in control. And I knew that you would needed me to save that sorry pile of planks you call a ship. Nope. Not scared. I just out-maneuvered you!" With that he turned his back to Hook, buried himself into the blankets and fell asleep. So he didn't even see the buccaneer gaping at him, his expression an amazing combination of amusement and fury.

"And to think, I could have killed the little monster when I first found him and been done with it by now," he murmured, shaking his head at the boy, who slept completely ingenuously between friends and enemies, trusting whatever God looked over him to protect him, as only children could do. "Insolent and arrogant mouse!" he growled and turned his attention away from the boy, before his anger could get the better of him, and tugged his blanket around him.

Thalion and Giliath had observed the row between the two ancient enemies with more than their sharp ears and eyes. Elves could sense the feelings of those around them, and so both warriors could visualize the relationship between man and boy. Yes, they were truly enemies, but their feelings about the other were, in an odd way, twisted. Hook's distaste for the boy was marked – it burned deep in him and was eating at him. But there was also a facet of respect – unwilling and never admitted, not even to himself, but it existed. And there was more: a seed of affection between them. The two Elves also concluded that the mortal man liked the challenge the boy provided.

But they could also sense how dangerous the man was. They could feel how his courtesy and scruples were tossed to the wind when he was enraged, and an iron will enclosed him like a cocoon, mixed with intelligence, a clearly logical mind, and a vital spirit. Nevertheless, beneath all this shell of brutality was human warmth, an unacknowledged yearning for affection, for someone who would stand at his side. He was lonely, there was no doubt, and this loneliness poisoned his soul, turned him bitter; his pride refused to let him step across the shadow and through the vicious circle. This man wasn't evil through and through. There was still good in him, even if it lay buried deep. If it were released, it would blaze forth like a sun.

Giliath concentrated on Peter, learning his thoughts, his attitudes, wondering who this child was they were sent to aid and protect. The boy didn't hate his enemy – not truly. He was angry with him and disliked him, but there was no hate. Yes, the Elf could even feel a hint of fear beneath all that arrogance and true courage. Peter was no tomfool. Of course he knew how dangerous his nemesis was, and that he put his life at risk as soon as he met and angered the captain. He had had often run afoul with the buccaneer, that was certain. Why he continued to challenge him regardless of these facts was beyond Giliath. Perhaps it was the need to be near an adult. Perhaps it had something to do with youth and its attending carelessness ... The Elf sighed. Humans were sometimes pure riddles!

Silently, Hook sipped his grog, and from time to time threw a glance toward the boy, unconsciously checking on his well-being. Peter was snuggled deep into the blankets and continued frequent bouts of shivering. The pirate knew this wasn't normal and turned to Giliath. "I don't think he's completely recovered!" he said and pointed with his hook at the boy, who trembled again.

The Elf saw it, too, and nodded slowly before he stood and crouched beside Peter. Carefully he laid one slender hand on the boy's forehead and took a deep breath. "It has begun. He will weaken more and more."

Hook frowned, catching Smee's eye. "What does that mean?"

Giliath looked up at him, his green eyes glimmering in the firelight like a deep lake in the middle of a forest. "S-Hadh. He weakens the boy with his dark powers." He looked down at Peter again, closed his eyes, and an odd concentration appeared on his face. He murmured quietly in his mother tongue, and suddenly he seemed to softly glow – the flickering shadows at the fire curled up and the wind hesitated for a long moment while a gentle warmth flowed around the Elf.

Hook thought he could feel a sensation of security, of warmth, grazing him – almost like a tangible caress beneath his skin. He felt himself take a deep breath, but not breathe it out. The caress reached into the hidden part of him which had made itself noticeable over and over again since he met Wendy three days ago. He suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable, but this didn't embarrass him. For a brief ... eternity … old hidden memories arose – the memory of being a small boy, with not a care in the world, and the wind of freedom and independence playing about his curls. For a long delicious moment, he felt loved and protected. It chased away the shadows of his loneliness that gnawed at him like a little rat, and which distressed him more than the recurring pain in his mutilated arm.

Then the pirate-captain in him returned, and he released his breath. Shocked, he straightened himself, and stared perplexed first at the Elf and then at the boy. '_What in this strange and appalling world is happening here?'_

Peter's face had lost some of its ash color, and relaxed. He stopped shivering, and now wore a peaceful expression. It was as if the Elf had driven away the chill and the weakness out of the boy's body, and had filled him with his own strength. Soon Giliath stood and returned to his comrade and the mortal man.

The other pirates gaped at him. They, too, had felt the gentle warmth radiating from the Elf's magic, giving each a glimpse of times and delights long forgotten, and the loss of it made them almost sad. Yes, they were a gang of murderers, thieves, crooks and cutthroats, but once – oh yes, now they remembered -- they all had been children and had had their own dreams and ideals which they had lost in the hardship of their lives. And the soft magic of the Elf had awakened the yearning to find it again.

Flustered, they all examined the strange, tall, bright warriors between them. The ascetically, handsome faces showed no emotion, but in the clear deep eyes one or another buccaneer thought he could see the clean welcome spark of compassion.

Hook tried not to stare at the young Elf beside him, who seemed a bit worn and pale now, but then Giliath took a deep breath and the weariness vanished. "He will be stronger, if he can sleep through the night," he said in a low voice. "The mind of the Dark had touched him and he will need the rest to regain his strength."

Thalion nodded and raised his voice, saying something in his own language, whereupon his men got up and vanished into the surrounding forest from which they had first come. Only seconds later they returned, carrying large packs with them, some of them seemed as heavy as they were large. Thalion turned to Hook: "We will stay here this night. It is already late now and too dark for your men to walk without the lights of lanterns, which could give us away to the servants of the Dark – or would tell them the location of the chosen hideout of the children."

Hook grew alert. "Their hideout?"

Giliath lifted one brow. "The shelter we found this afternoon, not the boy's home!" Deep blue and deep green eyes glanced at each other, until the pirate-captain looked away and smirked:

"You really are concerned about the little brat!"

The corner of the Elf's mouth lifted slightly. "You should be, too. You know that without him, not only this world will be lost, but the one you came from as well."

"Yes, I'm deeply concerned about the boy's health," Hook scoffed. "The only reason he's still alive is that he's the key to this whole damn mess!" He shook his head and sighed, turning his attention to another problem. "You say it would be too dangerous now to travel to their present shelter. But we humans can't stay outside the entire night. It will grow even colder than it already is, and we aren't as resistant as Elves. We must search for shelter where we can light a larger fire."

a smile now played around Thalion's lips, what turned is face softer and showed the man behind the warrior. "We have considered your need for shelter, Captain." He made a quick gesture toward his soldiers, who had unpacked their baggage and were about to set up low tents of pale grey, which seemed to melt into the shadows and the snow around them until they were almost invisible. "We did not expect there would be so many, but it will suffice if we all move together. My men don't take much room, and several will stand guard this night, so that we need only three tents. The other nine are for you and your crew, Captain." With these words he turned around and walked to his men.

Hook watched him, surprise showing only in his eyes. Giliath saw the mortal's expression and grinned. "Yes, Thalion thinks of everything. Sometime he can still amaze me, and we have known each other for an age and longer."

Hook turned his attention back to Elvish warrior beside him. "An age and longer?" he asked. "Excuse me, but you appear quite youthful. Did you know him as child? Are you related to him?"

The healer's smile grew, reminding the pirate-captain of a certain smirk he knew very well from another young face. "No, we are not of the same clan. I first met him during a visit at our lord's residence, when I was introduced as the new guardian of our territory."

Hook nodded and observed the characteristics of the Elf that gave his youth away. He had known as much. 'For a long time' – really!

"That was one thousand, six hundred, seventy-eight years ago, as you measure time," Giliath said in a light conversational tone and emptied his cup of the Grog. "I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a beautiful spring day and--" He stopped when he caught a glimpse of the shocked face of the buccaneer. "Is something wrong, Captain?"

"How long ago?" Hook's voice sounded hollow.

The Elf set his cup aside, and casually repeated, "One thousand, six hundred, seventy-eight years ago. It was a great honor for me to be nominated so young as the Tirnion-i-Agortum. I was only seven hundred twenty-four years old at the time, and normally none are trusted with such an important charge at such a young age. But my gift developed very early, and because my father was called to stay at the residence's healing area, I've been nominated as his follower." He tilted his head and took in the very pale face of the other man. "Do you not feel well, Captain?"

The buccaneer swallowed with some difficulty as the reality of the Elf's age slowly sank in. "You … you're really twenty-four hundred years old?" he asked hoarsely, his expression mirrored on the faces of the other pirates.

Giliath tried to hide the laughter that was bubbling in him now. "Twenty-four hundred and two, but I am still a youth among my people. Thalion is three thousand, six hundred fifty or fifty-one years old, I am right?" he asked, directing his question to the one who now stood behind Hook.

"Fifty two this year, Giliath," the Elvish commander corrected, coming back to the fire.

"Oh, I apologize," the younger replied.

Amusement tugged at Thalion's mouth, and his dark eyes started to sparkle, telling Hook kindly: "Immortality has its advantages."

The captain sat, thunderstruck by the enormity of what he was hearing. He lifted his eyes to the warrior with a new respect. "To you," he murmured, not knowing he even said it aloud, "we must appear as babes …"

-----------------------------------

Morning was indicated only by the complete blackness of night making way for a dark grey overcast. The storm had slackened at last and only occasional snowflakes found their way through the ceiling of snowy leaves.

Giliath hadn't slept much. Soothing the boy's assailed mind had sapped his energy and he knew that this was only the beginning. Sighing, he stepped out of the tent he shared with Thalion and four of his warriors, stretched, and greeted several of his fellows. The Elves had kept the watch all through the night in shifts.

To prevent their comings and goings from disturbing the boy, they had decided he would sleep in one of the tents the pirates used, and he had ended up with the Captain. There wasn't much space, and Hook's grumbled protests were ignored.

Giliath took a deep breath of cold air and made a face. He already yearned for the mild weather of his home world about him. As he had told the children, there were winters in his land, too, but never this sinister, unpleasant weather.

The children … he really hoped that they were all right. It hadn't been an easy decision to stay here and to let them alone up there in the cave, but he had no choice. And he knew that they were able to keep an eye on themselves.

Thalion greeted him. He agreed they needed to get to the cave as quickly as possible, and after settling on their course of action, Giliath approached the tent where Peter and Hook were still sound asleep. He indicated for two of his fellows to waken the other pirates, and entered the surprisingly warm shelter of the tent.

The remains of a campfire still glowed at the center, barely illuminating the two sleeping shapes. Of course, Hook had insisted on a tent to himself. Peter's unwelcome presence was already too much company. Giliath smiled as he saw the two mortal enemies sleeping peacefully side-by-side. The captain lay on his right arm, his hook, unfastened out of the wooden cuff, laid out of the way. Peter had once again burrowed into the curve of the man's body, back to him. The captain's blanket was half covering the boy, and his left arm lay loosely across Peter's waist – a protective gesture completely out of character, considering their avowed hostility. If awake, they would have put as much distance between them as they could, both of them cursing and scoffing. But asleep, where only the hidden mind of the heart ruled, they had sought out each other's warmth.

The Elf knelt beside the boy and gently shook his one shoulder. "Wake up, _mellon min_ – my friend. The morning has come and we have far to go." Grumbling, the golden shock of curls emerged and two sleepy eyes blinked at him. Giliath had to smile. "How are you, Peter?"

The boy moistened his lips and groaned: "I don't know. I have a bad taste in my mouth and a headache."

Giliath observed the boy carefully. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked a bit 'green around the gills'. "Are you thirsty?" he whispered, already having made a diagnosis. Peter nodded and the Elf sighed. "The captain told me that he gave you two mugs of heated grog to warm you up. Grog is made from rum, a strong alcohol. You've a hangover, my friend."

Peter stared at him. "That was that hot spicy stuff he forced down my throat?" he said hoarsely. "Hook! You'll be sorry when I see you again!"

A quiet chuckle escaped the Elf. "I think this time he meant it only for good. Grown-up men use it for people in your situation, and that 'stuff' really helps."

The boy rubbed his face. "And he taught me about rum. Blasted pirate!"

Giliath rose. "Perhaps you can repay him. It's up to you how you want to wake him." He pointed at the buccaneer lying behind the boy, still sound asleep, and grinning one last time, he left the tent.

The boy frowned, wondering what the Elf meant, and finally became aware of the weight on his waist. He looked back over his shoulder and was shocked when he saw the pirate lying directly behind him. Before he could shout in surprise, he remembered that the buccaneer had saved his life the day before. As impossible as it sounded, for the time being, Hook wasn't his mortal enemy, but an ally.

An ally. The boy snorted. Of course, that didn't mean that he couldn't have some fun with him. After all he, Peter Pan, had a reputation to maintain. What did Giliath say? It was up to him how he wanted to waken the captain? And the payment for the 'great care' the buccaneer had showed him? Oh yes, he knew exactly how to wake up this great ugly grown-up.

He sat up carefully, bent over the man and took a deep breath. "ALL HANDS! ALL HANDS! MAN OVERBOARD!" he yelled at the top of his lungs in his best "Hook" voice.

Hook shot up as if bitten by a snake, and Peter dodged out of his way. "What…? Where…? Who…? When…?" he stammered, followed by a loud: "SMEEEE! Man the lifelines!"

In the tent next to Hook's, the Irishman had been sleeping blissfully, lost in sweet dreams about sitting on a bank in front of a little cottage that was built on one of the cliffs in the north Ireland. The summer skies were blue, the wind blew around his white head, and he smoked a pipe, drank a good whisky and talked with other compatriots, while the infatuating smell of fresh Irish stew was wafting out of an open window. Suddenly the beautiful idyll was disturbed by a scream and someone shouting his name.

He knew this someone – knew him very well and—

For many years now, it had become his second nature to react instantly when that voice called for him, and so it was no miracle that the boatswain jumped up before he was completely awake. In his haste, he promptly tripped over Mullins, who gasped a loud "Hey!" as the knee of the older man descended on his stomach. Smee found himself nearly facedown in a small campfire. Bemused, he readjusted his spectacles, while all about him, five of his ship-mates regained consciousness and cursed loudly. '_By all the bogeys of Ireland, what are my comrades doing in MY cabin? And why is there an open fire, for God's sake? There musta been one heluva party last night –'_

"Can't ye look w'ere y'r goin'?"

"What wuz dat?"

"Damn! Go back ta sleep!"

"Hold yer fool mouth, Alf!"

"Shut up!"

"Shut up yerself!"

It was in that same moment Hook's voice once again came to them, this time really angry. "PAN! You accursed brat! How DARE you?"

Uh oh, not good! Deciding to solve his riddles later, Smee shoved himself upright and scudded out of the tent. Tent? And why was it so damn cold? Looking about, he saw the well-tracked snow and many pale grey tents, and between them tall warriors who looked at him bemusedly, glancing between him and the tent where two very well known voices issued – one dark, cursing and scolding, and one laughing heartily.

We might forgive Smee his momentary bewilderment. For that dream had called up memories of a fawn-haired girl with eyes the color of strong coffee, a wedding near the bay, a little house he'd built with his own hands, her fine cooking, and the news of a baby on the way before he went off to sea. His own sweet darling, Barbara … Whom he buried after some English "gentlemen" just wanted to have some fun by chasing her across the field, where he tumbled and fell that unfortunately that she died – she and her unborn baby. Half insane with pain he went back to the sea and became, more by accident than intention, a pirate.

Suddenly the tent flap flew open and the rest of Smee's dream-pictures were gone. A giggling Peter Pan darted out, followed by a very irritated Captain Hook carrying his thick overcoat over his right arm, as well as his thick cape, while he pressed his left hand to his ear, grimacing. "Congratulations, Captain! You passed the reaction-test with flying colors!" the boy laughed and fearlessly faced the infuriated pirate.

"I swear, Pan, I will break your skinny insolent neck!"

"But not today," the boy crowed happily, dancing out of the man's reach. "We're allies and without me, your ship will be send to the devil! Forget that already?" he taunted.

Hook drew himself to his full height. "No, otherwise you would be dead by now. But I see no reason why I shouldn't discipline you," he snarled, screwing his hook into the cuff, carefully not to let his clothes fallen in the procedure.

Peter stuck his fists on his hips and grinned: "You wouldn't dare! The Elves wouldn't let you."

The buccaneer's left hand flashed forward and caught the tousled curls of the youth. "Don't count on that one, boy. I'm sure the Elves chastise their children as well!"

Peter tried to pull himself from the pirate's fingers, and shot him a dark glare. "But I am not your child!"

"Thank God for small favors! Otherwise I would have to use other methods. How does the old saying go?" A grim smirk appeared on his face. "The man who loves his child will not hesitate to use the whip!"

Smee murmured, "Anot'er wise man said that a man who spares t'e rod hates his son."

Peter lifted both brows. "So you don't hate me, but love me? Really, Hook, I would _never _have thought that of you." He narrowed his eyes. "Now let me go! Thanks to you I already have a headache and I don't need this!

Hook looked at the boy's green complexion. Headache? Suddenly a broad grin crossed his face and he let go of the golden locks. "Oh, poor widdle Peter! Does your head hurt?"

"Hurt?" the leader of the Lost Boys retorted. "You tried to poison me – again!"

Hook chuckled and slipped into his warm overcoat. "Hush, boy. It was only a bit of rum mixed with water to warm you."

Peter scowled. "If you like that disgusting stuff, then drink yourself to death with it. But never force it into me again!"

The buccaneer was laughing now. "Look at this -- Peter Pan with a hangover, whimpering like a girly! Heavens, even our pretty little pigeon you call your girlfriend has more fortitude about her than you! She at least had the grace to thank me for saving _her _life. But that's the difference between a little boy and a grown man!"

That was it. "If you and your crew are only can prove your 'manhood' by getting drunk, then I really pity you! I'm glad I'll _never _have to be a man!" Peter snarled, blushing with embarrassment and biting his lip. But the cork had been pulled. "I've seen and heard you when you've been in your cups, staggering around your quarters and slurring nonsense into your beard. And the next morning you're hanging over the railing, a wet towel around your head and moaning as if someone was pulling your belly out of your mouth. And all this humbug because you want to prove to yourself that you're a real man! That is worse than a child, real man!"

While Peter shouted at their captain, the rest of the pirates were stumbling out of their tents, watching the boy insult the man they feared the most. About the clearing, the Elves busied themselves with packing up.

Hook looked at Peter, his expression a mask, while danger gleamed in his eyes. "You're calling my behavior 'childish', boy?" he asked softly. "If you need proof of my strength, I'll give you one any time you want."

"How?" Peter taunted. "Will you attack me again? Oooh, I'm trembling with fright!" He shook himself in mock terror, but his blue eyes were flashing.

Thalion turned to Giliath, who was strapping his bow on his back. "You're right, my friend. They really are entertaining."

"I am not a jester!" Hook called sharply in their direction, and Peter cocked his head.

"Hah! All you need is a cap with little bells and a piebald suit. Any royal would be happy to give you the job … Hooky!"

That was too much for the pirate-captain. Quick as a snake, Hook had grabbed him while he let fall his cape, bent him over his right knee and gave him the paddling of his life. Peter screamed and struggled, but it was no use, first because of the hangover, and second the buccaneer held him firmly down with his right arm. Giliath got ready to interfere, but Thalion held him back. "No," he said in the Elvish tongue. "I can appreciate the boy's courage and quick mind, but this he deserves. After all, the captain hasn't done anything to him but attempt to help."

After several hard whacks, Hook pushed the boy off to the ground and rose. His men applauded and laughed, making bold comments about Peter, who sat with flaming cheeks in the snow. Is wasn't only that the blows really hurt – something he would never admit to Hook – but the painful embarrassment of being abased in front of the pirates _and_ the Elves brought tears of shame into his eyes. "You will pay for this, Hook!" he whispered and stared reproachfully at his enemy.

With a feeling of gratification, the buccaneer looked down on the boy and smirked: "That was way overdue, urchin. And I hope you think of me every time you try to sit or lie down in the next couple of days!"

Peter pressed his lips together. No, he would not let Hook win this round. Ignoring the pain he got up, stood arms akimbo, proudly threw his head back and smiled his famous grin. "Too bad, codfish! My breeches come with leather padding! Hardly felt a thing!"

The eyes of the pirate-captain turned suddenly to fire and the first red emerged. As he made a step into Peter's direction and his iron claw seemed to twitch, the boy decided that it would be far healthier if he would put some distance between himself and Hook. The buccaneer was, for the moment, quicker than he; that he knew.

Giliath stepped between the two opponents and lifted both hands. "Please, gentlemen, peace. With every wasted moment, our enemy grows stronger. We must proceed to the cave as soon as possible, before S-Hadh's dark servants find us. They scouted the island last night. Some of our sentries heard them and only our tents disguised us enough for them to overlook us. But now, with the tents gone, we are again visible to them, and an open confrontation so soon would be not wise."

The urgent, but still soft voice of the Elf distracted the enemies, even though against their will. And what the immortal warrior said had rhyme and reason. Hook shot the boy one last burning gaze. "When all this is over, Pan, I will ram some respect into your stupid head before I send you to your maker. Mark my words, boy, because they are not a threat, but a promise!"

With that he turned away. "Smee? Breakfast!" He gave orders to his men. "Help our hosts with the tents, you lollygaggers! Be quick about it!"

The boatswain glanced at Peter and shook his head. "Ah, boy, you've a talent for throwing oil on a nasty fire!" Then he took off in the direction of his tent, while Hook slipped on his cape, mumbling something about "no decent way to wash" and "all this because of that damn brat."

Giliath laid a hand on Peter's shoulder. "I know this is how you and the Captain are accustomed to dealing with one another, but please remember -- you now must each rely upon the other. You must stay together now, and learn how to avoid fights, to cooperate and work together."

The leader of the Lost Boys frowned. "It looks different when Hook and I are fighting, Giliath. Then you can see the sparks flying."

The Elf smiled. "The sparks are gone, _mellon min_. Faith, I think you two do not know how alike you are."

"WHAT?"

This retort came from both of them this time, and as Giliath saw that both had shoved their fists (and one hook) into their hips and frowned at him with slightly tilted heads, the Elf had to chuckle. "My point exactly!" he joked.

As Hook and Peter recognized that they stood there in precisely the same posture, they dropped their arms as if burned and glared darkly at each other, while Giliath started to laugh.

TBC…


	13. The Strategy

**Chapter 12 – The Strategy**

The way up into the mountains cut through the gorge– not far, really. On a normal Neverland day, it would have taken no more than two or three hours, and Peter could have covered the distance in minutes by flying, but nothing was normal this day. It still looked like evening, clouds hanging low into the ravines. Then, as if to hinder them further, it began to snow again. Elves, pirates and eternal boy worked their way over the slippery rocks of the gorge, and the pirates and Peter labored along the small ledge beside the nearly frozen waterfall. Not without envy the humans watched the Elves,  
who moved with grace and ease across the snow and ice, as if it were no more trouble than a walk in a park on a sunny afternoon after lunch.

As they finally reached the end of the gorge, the snow had drifted even higher, and now the men had to push through the white walls. Even Peter, who walked between Hook and Giliath, often sank to his hips to the snow and had to be pulled out, which usually provoked a comment from the Captain. He would have loved to fly the rest of the way to the shelter they had found yesterday, but Giliath had asked him not to. "You will need your strength to fight against S'Hadh," he had said and Peter retorted, "And fighting snow and walking up mountains will spare it?"

The Elf had smiled gently. "It might seem cumbersome to walk, but your gift of flight uses other powers, and it is important to conceal them for now."

Peter saved his breath and skipped any further questions. He had learned one thing in the meantime: it was impossible to pry a secret out of the Elf if he didn't want to give it away.

So it came to pass that they arrived near the caves around midday, according to the Elves. Peter's breathing was labored. He was not accustomed to walking such distances in such vile conditions, and he asked himself how he did it twice the day before. Maybe that freezing episode still affected him. Added to that, his bottom stung. Yes, the minimal padding in his breeches helped, but not as much as he claimed. He knew he had bruises there, and he silently cursed the pirate with all expletives that occurred to him. And as he cast a glare at Hook -- meeting the satisfied glance of his nemesis -- he realized that the buccaneer saw right through him. Curse his black pirate soul! He'd make him pay. No one did that to him – and in front of others! How humiliating!

"Peter!"

The sweet voice broke into his dark thoughts and the boy looked for the small figure in front of the cave; the long walnut-brown hair tossing in the wind. Relief flooded him. He really had been concerned about his friends (even if he had tried to ignore it by devising methods of getting back at Hook.) He knew Slightly could take care of the group, but nevertheless, the new dangers of Neverland had multiplied since the warlock had arrived on the island, and Peter was more than happy to find Wendy smiling, proof that his friends were all right.

Disregarding Giliath's request –almost an order – Peter lifted into the air and darted the rest of the way to the girl, who ran to meet him. His feet had barely touched the ground when she flung her arms around him, sighing: "Oh my, I was so worried about you!"

Surprised by the impulsive embrace, he hesitated before he awkwardly returned it. He cleared his throat and murmured. "Aw, Wendy, you know I can take care of myself – and after all, I did promise that I'd come back."

Wendy lifted her eyes to his cocky expression, and smiled that brilliant smile that always seemed to make him blush. "Yes, I know," she sighed. "But when night came and there was no word from you, we all grew concerned."

He grinned. "Something got in the way, but I solved it."

"You mean I solved it for you, Pan!" the cynical voice sounded beside them. Startled, Wendy looked up and directly into the face of James Hook, reddened by the cold and effort, who glanced mockingly at her and Peter, before he fixed his gaze on the shy embrace. "Incredible," he taunted. "Master Pan turns into a heartbreaker!"

He glanced at the girl and quickly observed her. She seemed well. Clad in a variety of warm clothes and healthy, she stood arm's length away from him, and looked up at him with those damned appealing dove-blue eyes. Her skin was pink from the cold wind, now blowing through her thick hair, and she looked a little tired, as though she hadn't slept well last night, but otherwise she was completely all right.

He pressed his lips together, as he felt a strange emotion rising in him. No! He wasn't relieved to find her well and not half frozen to death! Of course he wasn't! And that little tugging in his heart and the little skip he felt, well, that was only because … because … he couldn't teach her the lesson now as he had sworn to do at their next meeting.

"Captain Hook," Wendy gasped and her heart seemed to leap into her throat, frozen where she stood. Then her mind started to work again. Hook was here, in front of them, and his threats from their last parting were still very much in her ears. Instinctively, she stepped back and took Peter's left hand – a silent plea for help. She met the derisive forget-me-not-blue eyes, which scanned her up and down, and swallowed hard.

The pirate-captain lifted a brow. Wendy's sweet face paled and she stepped back, gripping the boy's hand. He knew why: She took his threat seriously. Good, the girl was at least intelligent enough to realize the deep water she jumped into when she attacked him on the beach after he saved her. And even if he couldn't make her pay for her new 'betrayal' now, he still could remind her that it wasn't over. He lifted a brow and twittered: "Not so brave this time, my beauty? Perhaps you recall my last promise to you. You are wise to be … cautious."

His dark voice sent a shiver down her spine, partly because of the horror of his sudden appearance and words awakened in her, and partly because … because … well, she didn't know. She could not identify the other emotions the buccaneer was able to provoke in her, which confused her. She stayed next to Peter, keeping her feelings off her face, mind racing as she took in every detail of the handsome interloper.

He wore a long black cape lined with fur. Snow crystals shimmered in his long ebony curls and the feathers of his snow-covered hat tossed in the wind. Nothing about him indicated that he was tired from the walk or even cold. He seemed to be as strong and vital as ever.

Reminding herself finally that this man – this pirate! – was probably here to kill them, she mentally pushed away his overmastering aura, straightened her shoulders and collected herself. "My my, the people you meet when you don't have a gun!" she whispered, angry that her voice seemed to have left her. She cleared her throat. "You stay away from us!" Yes, that was better! In the next moment, she asked herself if she had finally lost her mind. As if Hook would leave them on her say so! Heavens, Hook said that he would make them pay without mercy, and here she was defying him – again – and protecting Peter, who was the only one who could protect _her_! Hook would surely strike her down first, if only for her effrontery!

The captain blinked, amazed at her show of bravery. This girl certainly had a fighting-spirit. "I don't think so, little one," he answered with soft mockery, tilted his head toward her and grinned, rewarded by seeing her eyes grow even wider. For a moment he was tempted to keep her in suspense, but he knew that the boy and the Elves would soon spoil his fun. "Pan has more or less invited me to join your little rescue-army, and of course I couldn't refuse such a … polite … request – especially after our history together."

Wendy glared at the man, and Peter tugged on her suddenly cold fingers. "Easy, Wendy. What Hook is telling you in his 'nice' way is, that he and his men will support us in our fight against S-Hadh."

It seemed to be impossible, but her eyes grew larger. She refused to trust her ears. Hook wanted to _help_ them? No. No, not true. It had to be a trick. But couldn't Peter see through it? After all he knew his enemy better than anyone! She glanced skeptically back at the elegant man, and meeting his eyes again, she searched there for some indication that the buccaneer had tricked them, but she found none. The eyes were serious, and surprisingly, it calmed her. And to her greater horror, she felt the old fascination returning that arose every time his name was spoken at home – not to mention when she faced him for real.

The leader of the pirates pompously doffed his hat in a mocking gesture of greeting toward a lady, and then shook off the snow, never taking his eyes from the girl. "Your obedient servant, Miss Darling. Or, shall I call you 'Red-handed Jill'? After all, you really are red-handed now – seeing as you wear a cape made from the fabric stolen from my ship!"

Wendy blushed deeply. "I apologize," she whispered and felt her guilty conscience returning.

"For what?" Hook asked sarcastically. "Which is to say: which of the long list of offences against me do you apologize for?"

Taking a deep breath she opened her mouth to answer him that she was sorry about the theft of an entire bolt of material, but realized that would hardly shorten the list, when another voice sounded behind her

"Aye, little miss!" Forcing her gaze away from the unreadable eyes of the captain, she looked up and saw the gentle, almost familiar Elvish face looming over her. The wind tore at his long hair, nearly the color of snow. Giliath smiled and laid one hand soothingly on her shoulder – feeling the inner turmoil of the mortal girl. "Captain Hook and Peter speak the truth, dear Wendy. He and his men do accompany us for additional strength and support."

Amazed anew, Wendy finally looked at the arriving troop. And really, they came along together in something like harmony -- the gang of pirates, armed to the teeth and grim, and between them tall bright figures, drastically contrasting with Hook's crew. It was that contrast that almost made her laugh. She turned her attention to Peter. "How did _this_ happen?"

The boy grinned and exchanged a quick glance with his nemesis, who pursed his lips. "Hook figured that the ice is a danger to his ship as well as the rest of us. And so he joined up with us, and somehow we are already buddies. Right, Hooky?"

The pirate-captain shot him glare that would have driven away any sane, clear-thinking person, but Peter only chuckled as Hook walked past him, Wendy, and Giliath, and headed into the mouth of the cave. Smee and two pirates followed him. Wendy took a deep breath. "Peter, even if Captain Hook has offered his support, please remember that he is your enemy. Don't challenge him so! I don't want to see him losing control. We both know what that could mean."

The boy shook his head and mumbled something about "… always so careful …" but gave her a sheepish smile as she lifted one delicate brow. "It isn't like I trust him completely," he explained. "I'm not stupid. But he does know how much depends on his help, in this case, for his ship. And he won't risk its destruction."

The girl sighed. "Hopefully. I just don't want to wake up with that hook in my belly!"

Peter made a face. "That would be 'bad form', in his book. And you know what a stickler he is about form. And, by the way, I don't think he would do anything like that to y--"

An ear-piercing clamor exploded out of the caves and startled the two children and the Elves. "Oh no!" Peter moaned. "The boys don't about Hook!"

He rushed forward, Wendy and Giliath on his heels. Another brown-haired Elf that Wendy hadn't met yet ran beside them. Peter reached the cave first and halted. Beside him Giliath also paused and caught Wendy's weight in his back when she didn't stop as quickly. The eternal boy exchanged a quick, amused glance with the first Elf, trying not to laugh.

The boys had thrown themselves as one on Hook, Smee and two other pirates, and the men had all their hands (and one hook) full just holding them at bay. John had jumped on Smee's back, who slurred something like "Easy, lad, I'll not harm ya!" while Nibs and Slightly hewed at the two other pirates. Hook tried to push the Twins, Michael and Curly away without injuring them with his metal claw, but of course the stunned children didn't realize it. Suddenly Tootles came out of nowhere and simply ran the captain down with his weight. Hook landed on his bum, cursing colorfully. Instantly the Twins jumped on his head, while Michael tried to pin his right arm to the ground, rendering the dangerous hook useless. Tootles, not lazy, sat down on the commander's legs, who was attempting to shake off his attackers. All of them swore like true sailors, and it wasn't easy to decide who was better at it: the boys or the pirates.

Peter stood with his hands on his hips, took a deep breath and lifted his voice to out-shout the noise: "QUIIIIIIET! Stop this nonsense NOW!" The boys all grew still, and the pirates stopped as well, clearly thunderstruck. Peter shook his head and laughed at them. "You could wake the dead with the noise you're making!"

"Be careful that you don't belong to them soon, Pan!" Hook growled and peered over his shoulder at one of the Twins, who had a handful of his hair. "Get off me, you miserable pipsqueak!" he hissed and received a blow from Michael, who saw the other boy in danger. Peter knew that this could escalate at any moment, and quickly moved to the pirate-captain's side. "Leave him alone!" he demanded, and hesitantly the boys obeyed. Their leader turned toward his other friends. "Slightly, Nibs, let Mason and Lee go. John? Stop using Smee as a drum!"

Completely perplexed, the boys finally ceased their attack and quickly put some distance between themselves and the pirates. "What's this all about, Peter?" Slightly asked bewildered.

"Yeah," Nibs said. "We had 'em!"

"Whom do you think you had, you three-cheese-high?" Hook hissed and the eternal boy gave him a broad smile. "Yeah, the truth can hurt sometimes. Right, Captain?"

The buccaneer's eyes were small slits now. "I warn you and your gang of delinquents one last time, Peter. Don't overdo it --"

"They may be alike, Giliath, but they are also oil and water!" Thalion chuckled.

The other Elf nodded, while the remaining pirates and Elves poured through the cave's entrance, curious what was happening inside. "I know what you mean," Giliath answered with a soft smile. "When they meet it, there are smoke AND fire."

The boys finally notice the strange Elf in their presence, and more of the magical people by the cave's entrance, accompanied by – it seemed – the entire crew of the _Jolly Roger_. "What in the world--" John started, while Michael looked up at the tall stranger.

"You're an Elf!" he simply stated. "I've read about you in the books Wendy gives us."

Thalion smiled kindly at the small human child with the fiery hair. "I am Thalion, and my fellows and I are here to assist you in your war against the dark warlock, who wears the name S-Hadh."

"Super! Then this sappy wizard will get the thrashing of his life!" Tootles yelped, and the boys all cheered.

"A very popular form of punishment in the moment," Hook said and sat up, trying his best to beat the sand out of his cape and overcoat. Peter shot Hook a dark glare, who retorted by sneering: "Really, Pan, don't look as if I'd threatened your life!"

"You know this isn't over!" the boy shot back, and saw his friends' questioning looks. "Never mind!" he grumbled, and swallowed the angry lump in his throat. No, of course he wouldn't admit to them that Hook had outdone him that morning.

His two crewman pushed themselves to their feet, swearing under their breath, while Smee looked at John and grinned. "Really, lad, you have guts! O' course, I already knew t'is from our first meeting."

The eldest Darling-son glanced apologetically at him, and shrugged. "I do my very best."

Straightening his shoulders, Peter quickly explained the presence of the pirates, and the boys stared at him, and then at the buccaneers who had gathered around the camp-fire to warm up. "So what do we do now?" Nibs asked and glanced around at the Elves and the pirates.

"We work out a plan to kick his sorry bum out of Neverland," Peter answered dryly. "Come on, let's powwow!"

------------------------

But they didn't 'powwow' immediately, because Hook's men were all tired, cold and hungry. So Hook sent several of them out to collect more wood to make several more camp-fires, and three of the Elves accompanied them for safety. Of course, the buccaneers protested at first – they really didn't need nannies – but quickly realized that the strangers had the better ears and eyes, and also the skills to cover up their tracks.

The others made themselves as comfortable as possible. The cave offered enough room for all of them and the Elves unpacked cooking gear and started to melt snow for tea. Smee, Cookson and Albino also got out the provisions they had brought with them from the Black Castle, already diminished by yesterday's evening meal and this morning's breakfast. Wendy followed their example and took out the Indian food which two of the Elves wanted to try as well. In exchange, they offered the children bread and meat from their own provisions.

So it came about that a short time later, they all sat together in several groups and "broke bread" together, a significant step in this unlikely alliance. The other pirates and Elves had returned in the meantime, and soon, several small fires bathed the cave in a warm light. Two Elves stood guard by the entrance, but were relieved as two of their comrades were finished with their meal. Peter and his friends, as well as Thalion, Giliath, Hook and Smee shared the same fire, and the two enemies glared warily at each other from time to time, but managed to hold their tongues through the meal.

When they had nearly finished, they heard a jingle, and Tinker Bell shot into the cave, waved happily at the two surprised sentries and flew to Peter. Thalion blinked amazed. "A star-fairy?" he asked and watched the tiny creature whirling about the boy's head with joy. "Hey, I'm trying to eat here!" the boy protested, happy to see her again.

Wendy asked Thalion: "Why does Tink surprise you so much, Sir?"

The Elvish commander turned to her, "You may call me Thalion, if you like." Then his attention turned back to Peter and the fairy. "Star-fairies are rare and peculiar. Mortals can rarely win their friendship." He glanced at Peter, who grinned at him, while he waved Tink out of his face.

"She usually behaves herself, except when she gets jealous!" She halted in front of his face, arms folded, liberally dusting his food (which he didn't seem to mind) and scolded him impatiently. "Yes, I know I'm late. No, I'm fine. Yes, it could have been worse. I was NOT careless!" Peter responded to the scolding. Hook paused from eating as the fairy returned, and observed the little scene across the fire, and Wendy couldn't read the expression in his eyes.

The girl glanced at the man, expecting a rude comment, but all she there was sadness. For a compelling, unforgettable moment, she did not see a pirate any longer, but a very lonely man. She was certain that he had no one who asked about his well-being – except possibly Smee – and that he must be feeling the lack of care and of friendship. She recalled his words during that awful battle on the ship. She vividly remembered his whisper that he would die alone and unloved. And Wendy knew that he yearned for those precious commodities, like everyone else in this world and any other. A new feeling blossomed in her very large heart -- pity for the man she now beheld, who normally wore the cold, hard and unforgiving mask of a pirate-captain. It suddenly dawned on her that Hook could be a very different person ...

Giliath and Thalion watched the boy and the fairy who now lectured him about risks, thick-headed decisions and so on. Yes, it was obvious that the females of Neverland had a soft spot for the boy, which was to be expected. Those eyes, that cocky smile and open merriment were too tempting. Thalion smiled. "I think Captain Hook was right when he said you are a heartbreaker, Peter!"

The buccaneer awoke from his thoughts at the sound of his name. Had he truly heard him at that distance outside the cave?

Tink giggled shyly, glancing around. It was only then she recognized the fearsome figure sitting on the other side of the fire from her beloved Peter. With a harsh clanging battle cry, she attacked. Quick as thought, Peter caught her midair and prevented her from doing Hook, who had gone rigid, any harm. The fairy was only as long as your hand, but underestimating her strength could be fatal.

"_NO_, Tink!" Peter said firmly and held her firmly in hand. "He's here to help us!"

The fairy looked suspiciously between his fingers at him, wriggled herself free and flew into his face, asking him if he had lost his mind.

Peter sighed – not again! – and tried to explain to her why the pirates were here. Tinker Bell pursed her lips, pointed at the buccaneer and jingled skeptically. The boy made a face. "Yeah, I believe him!"

Hook had finished eating, and shot Peter a dark glance, ignoring the strange warmth in the region of his third shirt button when he heard the boy saying that he believed him. "Are there any more of your friends we might expect who want to finish me off, Pan, or may I relax at last?"

Peter grinned. "No, this is it – for now. But there are still trolls and other sinister creatures that not only want your head, but mine as well." The man grumbled something that sounded like "Splendid!" and Peter had to chuckle, before he turning back to Tink. She was now sitting on his knee, eating some of the Elvish bread, eyeing the larger man with no little skepticism.

Wendy broke into her thoughts. "Did you and the others find out anything?"

Tink nodded and finished her bread before she flew to the sand beside the fire, gestured to Nibs to smooth it, then flew about, drawing a remarkably accurate map of Neverland with her feet in the sand. Then she showed them where the fairies thought S-Hadh's hideout had to be, where the entrances were that his creatures used. The children, the two Elves and the two pirates carefully watched her and memorized the places she showed them.

When she finished, Giliath sat back. "I don't like this," he said quietly and Thalion nodded.

"The wizard is stronger than we thought – and more clever."

Hook frowned. "What did she say?"

Peter's head swung around to face him. "I thought you understood their language?"

The pirate-captain shrugged. "I understand a lot of her chatter, but not all – especially not when she jingles like a carousel during holiday."

Tink made a face at the man, and Peter sighed. Then seeing the expressions on the Darling children, he knew that they hadn't understood either. "All right, translation," he grumbled. "S-Hadh has made himself at home in the Mount of No Return. He must be there because his servants – bogies of all kinds and several of Neverland's own dark creatures –made camp about it as well. The first of them we met yesterday, the trolls." The children shuddered, remembering the incident with the giants.

"Trolls are native to Neverland?" Wendy asked. "I thought they were a part of what is happening to the island."

Peter shook his head and Nibs answered: "They live on the north side, in the mountains. They don't ever come south, but if S-Hadh recruited them, that explains their change of location."

Michael shuddered. "Nice neighbors. Almost worser than Mrs. Figgings."

"Who?" the eternal boy asked, wondering who could be worse than the trolls.

"This old hag that lives in our neighborhood," John explained, "ugly as sin, face an inch thick with powder, spies on everyone, scolds anyone walking by her house in a voice like sandpaper, and smells."

Peter and Hook both turned up their noses in identical grimaces, and Giliath watched the two enemies, hiding a smile. So similar ...

"What other creatures are there?" Curly wanted to know, which brought their attention back to the matter at hand.

"As she said: mainly bogies – dark creatures of many different kinds. Tink said she has seen Duergars. They are a sort of bad-tempered dwarf that loves to play evil tricks. Then there are Impets, too. They are small and almost always black, too, but their bodies are partly beast. They have tails and paws and a mouth like a dog or a wolf. They travel in groups, and even though they're small, they're dangerous because of their numbers. Last, it seems S'Hadh has brought Goblins to Neverland." The three Darling-Children gasped. Even they had heard of these nasty creatures.

Hook cleared his throat and exchanged a glance with Smee. "Short, skeletal, pointed very long ears and, how did John put it, 'ugly as sin'?" the captain addressed the boy.

Peter nodded. "Aye. They're afraid of the sun and mostly live underground." Tink jingled something and the eternal boy nodded. "Yes, I know, Tink." He looked at Hook again with the same earnest expression as the buccaneer. "Tink says that there's a horde of them. They're very strong and use weapons like spears and swords. It appears the warlock has built up an army, and I think we're outnumbered."

"But we have Elves on our side!" Twin 1 said.

"And one Elf is better than 20 Goblins!" Twin 2 added.

Thalion gave the two little boys a rueful smile. "Thank you for your trust, little warriors, but even we have our limits."

"So what do we do now?" Curly asked. "Even we can see that we can't just charge in there, swords flashing, or we'll find ourselves in a terrible jam."

"Jam!" Tootles sighed to himself. "I really would like some now."

Slightly stared at him, while the other children giggled. "You had enough for three only minutes ago. You can't be hungry again!"

"Who said I'm hungry? I was just thinking about dessert."

Peter groaned. "I don't believe it. Neverland is at stake, and you're thinking about dessert?"

Tootles looked sheepish. "Sorry, Peter, but it isn't my fault I'm not full yet."

"You'd eat us out of house and home!" John commented (another phrase from George Darling) and shoved his spectacles back up his nose.

Giliath wasn't the only one who laughed at the boy. "I believe this is one problem I can easily solve. We have fruit in our provisions. When we're done with this council, we will share with you."

Tootles beamed at him, clearly relieved. "Thanks!"

Tinker Bell jangled insistently and pointed at the map in the sand. "Yes, sorry Tink, complete concentration here!" the leader of the Lost Boys grumbled, lifting both hands in mock surrender. "Any ideas, besides Curly's?"

Wendy glanced down at the map; an idea forming. "Tink, what is about S'Hadh's defenses? There must be access into the mountains. Are they being watched?"

Tinker Bell nodded and Peter translated her answer. "The trolls have their cudgels, the Duergan their picks and the Impets their claws and teeth. Goblins are stationed at the access points with swords, spears, bows and arrows." The fairy spoke again, and Peter sighed. "She forgot to mention the Harpies and Alrinachs. Not that they would count for much!" he scolded the fairy, who stuck out her tongue at him.

"Harpies and Alrinachs?" Michael frowned.

John nodded. "Harpies are mixed creatures, mainly bird but with a head like an old woman. They have sharp claws and feed on humans and small animals." The children grimaced.

Peter smiled, again surprised at his knowledge. "They are born of storms," he added. "That the Alrinachs go with them is no great mystery."

"Alrinachs?" Wendy asked.

"Storm-ghosts," Hook explained. "They come before you recognize them, stir up the air and the sea. They appear in a beautiful female shape and try to seduce mortals, until the men lose all reckoning, and are doomed. Because of these ghosts, many ships have met an early end."

The girl glanced at him. "I thought you ignored magical creatures on principle?"

Hook's brows arched, and he prepared a scathing comeback, but bit his tongue when he saw that she didn't taunt him, but was truly surprised. "I don't like them, beauty. But to ignore them on sea or here in Neverland would be a very foolish thing to do. Any seaman knows that."

For a long moment Wendy just looked at him, then a soft smile appeared on her face. "So you don't deny their existence."

A smirk made his moustache twitch. "To deny a fact is even more foolish than ignoring it." He glanced down onto the Tink's map, at the openings around the Mount of No Return. "An offensive would earn us nothing," he thought aloud and pointed at the map. "That horde of nightmares are well-protected, and would be able to defeat our attack, even without weapons like a catapult. An open frontal attack is out of the question."

Wendy bit her lip. "It's as if you wanted to fight against a swarm of bees. And what do you do when you're confronted with bees?"

John frowned. "You can kill ten or twenty of them. But they will only stop their attack when you kill the queen."

Peter's jaw dropped. "Where did you learn that?"

The spectacled boy, famous in school for his insatiable curiosity, smiled at his leader. "Our teacher taught us that in 'Natural Science'."

Wendy murmured, "You boys are lucky to have those kinds of lessons!"

Peter stared at his friend and asked, "You learn this sort of thing in _school_?"

John nodded. "Sure. That, and lots more."

"Maybe school isn't so bad after all, Pan!" Hook said, scoffing.

His young opponent shot him a sharp glare. "Killing the queen to stop the bees from attacking, is something I learned from Tink when I first got here. For that I don't have to sit in behind a desk and have to listen to some whack-happy grown-up with a ruler who won't let me say what I think!"

The pirate laughed quietly, this time without scorn. "It's almost adorable the way you continually oppose everything a normal child your age does, Peter!"

The eternal boy grinned back in genuine appreciation. "Thank you! I'm trying!"

"And succeeding, I will admit."

The cave echoed the laughter of the rest of the occupants. Giliath and Thalion exchanged glances. This verbal bantering between the two enemies was a good sign. Neverland might have a chance after all!

Wendy wasn't listening to boy and man, but was staring at the makeshift map; an idea beginning to take shape. "The Mount of No Return is a volcano, right?" she asked aloud. Many nods confirmed this. "Is it still active?"

"Active?" Peter asked obliviously.

"Obviously your fairy-friend hasn't taught you everything you need to know, Pan!" Hook commented, then addressed Wendy. "Yes, the Mount of No Return is an active volcano, but it's asleep at present. It hasn't erupted for many years – if you can believe the Redskins."

The eternal boy scowled. "So that's what you meant!" he grumbled. "Why didn't you say so?"

"I did say so," the girl replied, chin lifted.

"You're saying that, if an active volcano is quiet at the moment, then it's sleeping." Peter shook his head and started to laugh. "Then I don't think we should wake it!" he joked and the other boys joined in his laughter.

"What is this dough that you knead, Lady? What new road do you take?" Giliath asked and the girl bit her lips, pointing to several places on the map.

"A volcano usually has a main crater and several side vents. Looking at the access points to S'Hadh's hideout here, here, and here, it appears they are simply the vents of the volcano." She earned an appreciative nod from Tinker-Bell. "The force of an eruption doesn't only open new craters, but forces its way through smaller cracks in the mountain as well where lava escapes. Afterwards, when the magma has retreated back into the crust, they turn into caves. So not only does it create new caves, but they're linked with all the rest of the passages the retreating lava has left behind, and from there into the very core of the volcano. If we could find such a crack in the mountain, one S'Hadh and his accomplices haven't discovered, then we could creep into their hideout without their knowing."

"And how does that help us?" Curly asked bewildered.

"Simple! The enemy is ready for an attack from the outside. Most of his sentries are looking for aggressors from the outside and therefore their heavy weapons are pointing out of the hideout. But if we attack them from the inside, then we have a real chance to defeat them, because they aren't reckoning with such a thing. And from the inside, their heavy weapons, like the catapults, are useless."

Every eye in the cave was watching the girl and picturing the attack. John cleaned his spectacles before he said: "And what if S'Hadh finds us out, before we're ready to attack?"

"He won't become suspicious if we do exactly that what he expects," Hook contributed. "A feint attack from the outside! Possibly done by a splinter group."

Wendy picked up the pirate's train of thought. "So then, in the general confusion, our main force attacks from the inside, and from there we can wipe out their lines."

Hook nodded slowly. "Exactly," he murmured and threw an appreciative glance at the girl. She had a knack for strategy, that was certain. "There's something of the pirate in you, Red-handed Jill!" he smiled and Wendy blushed slightly. "Must I guard against your strategies in the future?" he teased, and her cheeks reddened even more as she ducked her head and smiled.

"Perhaps," she answered, earning an admiring chuckle.

Hook shook his head as he felt his resolve against her melting a little bit more. Devils and demons, but this little wench was starting to get him once again.

Peter had stared thoughtfully into the fire, considering their next actions. Then, slowly, he nodded to himself, while his expression brightened. "That's it, Wendy! That's a great plan." He glanced at the two Elves, who were still looking at the tender girl. "Giliath, I suggest that you and Thalion and the other Elves accompany us. Hook, you and your men make the feint attack from the outside. Tink can act as messenger between our two groups." He looked down at the fairy on his knee. "Maybe your friends can help you." Tink saluted proudly.

Thalion smiled, clearly amused. "Satisfy this Elf's curiosity, Giliath, and tell me why I and my men must needs be here? Sooth, you already have two fair strategists."

"Because you're a commander," Peter beamed at him, and the Elf laughed aloud – a warm, comfortable sound that seemed to chase the shadows away.

"Flatterer!" He turned toward Hook: "Peter's proposal is sound. If you and your men attack from the outside, Captain, then we can fall on them from the rear and wipe them out."

The pirate-captain frowned. "Why should my men and I lead the diversion, and not the main attack from inside?"

"Because you're better at rattling swords and making lots of noise about nothing," Peter grinned, "so you'd be best at a feint. You're used to this role." Wendy sighed and shook her head, while the other boys giggled.

Hook bent forward, his eyes narrowed, fire lighting his face from below. "Sword rattling? Noise about nothing?" he asked, his expression so stormy that Peter actually sat back. "For someone who flies away, trembling like a little bird as soon as a situation grows difficult, you have a big mouth, Pan. But I knew that already. But don't worry. I'll shut that as well, when you're finally lying bound and trembling at my feet."

"Just try it, old man!" Peter hissed back. "You always lose! Why should that change?"

"Correct," Hook leaned over and smiled a very 'crocodile' type of smile, and the other Lost Boys shivered at the sight. "Surely you know that every run of luck must end? Poor Peter. What a dreadful shock that will be. I'll be there when it happens, Pan, and when I'm done with you, you'll wish you'd never been born." His mocking voice had turned menacing, and hung heavy in the air.

"Words, words, nothing more!" Peter snarled back, eyes flashing. "You'll never get me!"

The captain held the smile. "We will see, Pan! But don't whimper when the end finally comes around."

"I never whimper, codfish. Especially not in front of you!" the boy spat – and Wendy's patience ran out.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it -- both of you!" she exploded. "Can't you two exchange three sentences without going for each other's throat?"

Two pairs of blue eyes turned to her, and both said in union: "But he started it!"

The girl threw her hands up. "You rebuked Tootles for being selfish enough to think about dessert with Neverland in danger, Peter, but here you are wasting time, quarreling with your own ally because you can't hold your tongue!" Peter scowled at her, cheeks flushing. Wendy turned away from him toward Hook, eyes aflame with indignation. "And you, Captain -- I thought you're here to save your ship. But taking turns threatening each other will never set it free! A man of your stature and position should remain above such harmless gibes!" Hook was at a loss for words, astonished by the girl's outburst – and very much annoyed at how right she was. Wendy threw him a last glance – had she really gotten him to hold his tongue? – and addressed a very amused Thalion: "You're an experienced leader. What do you say about our plan?"

The Elf cleared his throat and held his laughter. "Your plan is keen, little strategist. We must be sure of the details."

Hook's mouth drew a grim line. This wasn't over – especially not this unbelievable rebuke by the girl. Who, did she think, she was? His mother? 'A man of your stature and position…' Ha, what did this mere slip of a girl know about men?

Nothing!

And why had he felt like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar? Because she let him get a good look at himself? Damn it! That would never happen again! He'd take care of that -- later. Breathing deeply, Hook forced himself to calm down and glanced at Thalion. "Your satisfaction with this toy soldier's plan" – he threw Peter a heated glare – "probably has to do with your own weapons. They're more suitable against the enemy's weapon than ours would be, you being prepared for the eternal fight of light against darkness."

It wasn't a question, but a statement and Thalion nodded, acknowledging the mortal's quick mind and information regarding things 'magic'. "Exactly. It is for such reason that my contingent should lead the main force from the inside, Captain. Our swords are forged with a preternatural silver in their alloy, deadly to trolls and e'en moreso for other sinister figures than the earthly weapons. Indeed, we are swifter, and our eyes are keen in the dark."

Hook nodded. "Then it is a logical choice for you to go under the volcano while we make the feint. As soon as we've broken through their line, we'll reunite and reinforce your numbers

Giliath nodded. "Capital." He glanced at the eternal boy, who still glared at the pirate-captain. "Peter? You're coming with Thalion and me. S'Hadh stop at nothing to kill you--"

"I can certainly sympathize with the wizard!" Hook sneered, and lifted a provoking brow in the direction of Wendy, who refused to acknowledge the barb, and looked away.

Giliath sighed and started anew. "S'Hadh will stop at nothing to kill you, Peter, and he will make greater use of his powers. He will attack you, as yesterday."

"The snow-storm and my weariness?" the boy asked and the Elf nodded.

"Yes, and it will grow stronger. He will try to possess you, to capture your soul and will attack you with wrenching darkness. Against such attacks you're defenseless. And if you cannot resist them you will fall."

Peter's jaw dropped. "What? How I am supposed to fight if--"

"Don't worry, _mellon min_," Giliath said gently. "Remember my gift of sharing? This is why I was chosen to help you. My strength will protect yourself against the wizard's influence."

The boy gave him an uneasy smile. "Thank you, Giliath." He sighed and looked at Hook. "I must admit I'd rather fight you, Captain."

Hook made a face. "No compliment, Pan."

Peter groaned. "I can't say anything right around you!"

"Bilgewater and barnacles, you're right, boy!" Smee grumbled, and he was lucky Hook didn't heard him. But Wendy did, and giggled, giving the old Irishman a smile.

Tinker-Bell jingled and Peter listened closely, nodding. "Very good, Tink. That would help a lot. We'll wait here for your return." The fairy saluted and shot out of the cave. "Careful, Tink!" Peter shouted after her and sighed. "I don't like her out there."

"What is she doing?" Slightly asked, and his friend frowned.

"Tink and the other fairies will search for another crack in the mountain – or another unmapped entrance to S-Hadh's little hidey hole. I hope …" Eyes on the spot where she disappeared, his face said what his words refused to, that he was concerned.

For a long moment it was silent, then Tootles addressed Giliath with enthusiasm: "How about some of that fruit in the meantime? It'll last until Tink gets back."

In mock despair, Peter threw his head back and groaned, while the other boys laughed. "Giliath, please give Tootles some fruit. Otherwise S'Hadh won't need any tricks to change me into a basket case – 'cuz I'll already BE one!"

TBC…


	14. Nightly Attacks

Hi, dear readers,

after a council that had to be, up to a little bit romance-stuff and ACTION. Beware - cliffhanger - hehe.

Have fun an pleeeeaaaase review.

Yours Lywhn

**Chapter 13 – Nightly Attacks**

It was late that night and Tinker-Bell wasn't back yet. Peter watched from the opening of the cave, and from time to time, he thought he could see a thin golden shimmer from afar – the tracks of fairy-dust – but they vanished too quickly to be certain. Peter pulled his thick cape closer about him, peering into the icy darkness. The trees and bushes nearby bent under the weight of the snow, which had ceased falling. This was fortunate, otherwise many of the trees would been broken and destroyed.

A cold wind presently murmured through the branches, creating eerie echoes off the rugged walls of the mountains. It was one of those nights when one curls up on the sofa with a comforter, listening to your mother playing the piano, or reading a good book while you're sipping tea by the hearth where the fire crackles. But there was nothing like this in store for the eternal boy, who himself carried the lion's share of responsibility for the biggest challenge he ever encountered on his small shoulders. Yes, inside the cave it was warm, and they all had beds (more or less), but to lie down on a manteau and roll up into a blanket on hard ground, alongside strange warriors and men – men who were usually your deadly enemies -- wasn't an attractive prospect. Another dash of wind whirled around him and he heard someone approach. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"This night is uncommon dark. Fell voices sing in the sky. You should not be alone outside, Boy Peter."

The eternal boy gave a tired smile, and looked up into the face of the Elf, indiscernible in the night. "I'm waiting for Tink." He sighed. "But it doesn't feel like she'll return soon."

"The fey is swift and agile," Giliath soothed, "but even she must needs be careful, to seek shelter when danger threatens. She shall return tomorrow. I am sure of it." He laid a strong hand on the boy's shoulder. "Come, _mellon min_, let us go inside, near the fire."

"What's that name you call me? I mean this … mell … mellon …"

The Elf grinned. "It means 'my friend'. It is a title we use only with those we trust."

Peter smiled. He didn't know why, but the thought that this Elf – this adult! – was his true friend, was a great encouragement to him. "Thanks," he said quietly, and followed Giliath to the opening where two other warriors stood watch. Waving at them, the boy stepped into the warm shelter and yawned.

Most of the others were already asleep. The pirates must have been asleep, if their god-awful snoring was any indication. Bidding the Elf 'good night!' Peter made his way to the pad next to Wendy. Stifling another yawn, he sat down beside her and wrapped his arms around his knees; eyes fixed on the girl, her pale complexion aglow in the firelight.

His Wendy. The corner of his mouth tilted upward as he remembered the 'council' from earlier that day. His Wendy, of all people, had provided their plan of action! It really was amazing how many different talents she displayed. She could be soft, gentle, reasonable and careful – and then draw a sword, throw herself into deadly battle, then turn around and have as much fun as he did searching out adventures. One minute she could be as brave as any boy, and the next she'd look to him with her grey-blue eyes for help, something that woke in him the fierce desire to protect her against everything – even the devil himself, if it ever came to that. She was smart, clever, quick-thinking and wise beyond her years. The memory of how she scolded first him and then Hook, who promptly shut up, made him smile. She had the nerve to lecture the pirate-captain; and for some reason, that made him proud of her.

Wendy shifted, and Peter bent forward and tucked the blanket closer around her. How she lay there, so completely relaxed and peaceful, with thick tousled hair and a soft smile around her lips, made those strange un-welcomed feelings return. It wasn't the first time he watched her sleep, and as before, the sight warmed him, made him curious and vibrant in one. She sighed, and for a moment, he could see it: her special thimble. It lurked in the right corner of her mouth and seemed to wink at him, as if it would say: 'I am here and I am yours, if you dare to catch me.' For a long sweet moment, he was tempted to catch this thimble – his thimble. He knew that she wouldn't mind. And hadn't she said that it would his forever?

Without thinking, he bent forward, pulled by invisible strands -- and then stopped himself just before he reached the waiting treasure.

No! He couldn't do that! After all, she was a lady and no real gentleman should steal a lady's thimble when she was asleep. That truly was bad form, even he knew that.

More importantly, he – Peter Pan, boy everlasting – simply couldn't thimble her! He could feel a part of him going rigid in shock. Thimbling wasn't something for a boy -- especially not for the eternal boy! Thimbling was something for a man! And he wasn't a man! He would never be a man!

But still …

Still, there was this yearning …

Still he could remember the sensation of her lips on his from their first thimble …

Still he could remember the feel of her soft mouth touching his cheek down in the hideout four days ago …

And that other part of him, the very reluctant part that had come alive since he knew Wendy, wanted more.

Peter felt a headache coming and lay beside his friend. No, thinking was out of the question for the moment. He was tired, very tired, and he expected that it had something to do with the condition Neverland was in. He yawned again and snuggled into his cape and pallet. Tomorrow they would bring Wendy's plan to life, and send that damn troublemaker and his winter and his dark creatures back into the abyss from where he had come. And then he could think about thimbles!

Sighing he wriggled a bit nearer to Wendy and blinked past heavy lids to look at her again. He could smell her scent, and her familiar nearness and her steady breathing drew him in, let him forget the dangers of Neverland and slowly, but gently, he drifted away into a warm fitful sleep.

But Peter had been wrong to think that all, except, Giliath and the two sentries were asleep.

One other person had watched the little drama of the enamored boy and the sleeping girl: the dark person of Captain Hook.

The captain was far too keyed up to find sleep, the situation tearing at his nerves. Not only had he been forced to ally himself with his worst, most loathed enemy, not only was he far away from his ship in a cave, for pity's sake, waiting for that silly stupid pixie's return; no, the worst thing was the fact that he almost felt good about it – and that was most upsetting!

It was just … just … impossible! Yes, it might be the Elves' influence – legends were filled with stories of their magical influence toward harmony, but he had always thought he was immune against such sugary spells. But the last hours in their presence had proven him wrong. Their soothing aura was the only explanation why he, of all people, had spent the rest of the afternoon and the entire evening together with Pan's gang, sitting about the same camp-fire, listening to their stories and jokes, and conversing with the eternal boy, without losing his temper!

Outrageous!

He, Captain James Hook of the pirate ship _Jolly Roger_, chatting with Peter Pan! Usually the mere sight of the boy was enough to awaken a hot rage in him, but this familiar emotion hadn't come. Was it possible that he had grown accustomed to the boy's presence? Of course, he respected Peter's fighting-skills and his fierce spirit, at least on some unacknowledged level, but was that really the reason for this atypical behavior?

And then the boy had vanished out of the cave for a time, and upon his return he looked exhausted. As he had yawned made his way to the place where his little lady friend slept, he had shown all signs of wan child; small and helpless. Hook watched him, and as Peter bent over Wendy he witnessed the new expression on the boy's face. Of course, he knew the girl was smitten with the boy, but watching Pan, he came to the conclusion that the boy showed all the signs of being lovestruck. And it bemused Hook. This turned his perception of the careless boy on its head.

He always thought of Peter as rude, superficial and cheeky. But in Wendy's presence, the wild boy became gentle, almost genteel. It amazed Hook. He was used to seeing the boy as a lower form of life, not as a small person, and one with maturing feelings to boot. But hadn't he found this out weeks ago, when Wendy was bound to the mainmast of his ship and told him the stories Peter loved? He concluded that the boy had feelings – for her.

And those feelings seemed to have grown, slowly changing him.

Very carefully Hook sat up, observing the two children. They seemed to be asleep, and quietly the buccaneer drew back his covers, stood up and moved toward them. The boy had shifted in his sleep, was now spooned against the girl, one arm wrapped around her.

The completely innocent but obvious affection of the young lovebirds suddenly -- hurt.

A pang shot through his heart, a heart that wasn't as black as he and half of the world thought. Once more his loneliness was brought home to him – exactly like the time that Wendy kissed Peter, literally, at his feet.

Hook adamantly held any affection that might have been offered to him at arm's length, refused to allow any feelings of warmth for another person. Emotions made one weak, and he couldn't afford weakness as the leader of gang of murderous cutthroats. But the price he paid was quite steep – possibly too steep, because a sudden yearning, so strong it almost was agony, pierced through his chest.

For a long moment, he wanted nothing more than to be held, to find security and love in a pair of warm arms – like the boy when he found new strength because of that stupid 'thimble'; like the girl found safety in the shy embrace of her friend. What was it like to sleep in the arms of another? Yes, of course, he had had bedded others, when he still roamed the Caribbean, the coast of Africa. There had been women in different harbors who had piqued his interest – for one or two nights.

But now …

It was too late to change anything. He knew that it wasn't the same thing as sleeping in the arms of someone who loved him.

Who loved him…

Who would ever see through the dangerous pirate to the man he once had been – and still was, in many ways? Who would overlook that murderous metal claw he had instead of a hand of flesh and blood, and would not shrink away from the deformed sight of his missing limb?

Who would ever dare to love him?

Suddenly the cave seemed too narrow. The walls seemed to draw closer, nearer, cutting off his air, making it hard to breath, pressing down on him. From one moment to the next, the cave had grown too small for him. He couldn't stay here. Air! He had to breathe cold, fresh air!

He almost ran to the cave opening, striding past the surprised sentries without a glance. Icy wind blew, but it wasn't snowing. He wrapped his arms about him and walked several yards away, toward an outcropping at the rough wall of the mountain, where he sat down.

He had to think, to clear his head about it. His normally barren emotional world was turned upside-down, and he had to sort out how to straighten it all out again. Otherwise there would be no sleep, and he didn't want to make a fool out of himself by facing off against some ugly beast with a jaw-cracking yawn!

--------------------------------

Wendy was sound asleep when someone shook her shoulder. With groan, she tried to shrug it off. She was so heavenly warm and cozy, and she felt an arm draped possessively around her. She felt more secure than she ever did at home, and really didn't want to wake up. But whoever was doing the shaking was very stubborn and kept it up. Sighing, she opened her eyes and saw her youngest brother bending over her. Instantly she was awake. "Michael, what's wrong?" she whispered.

The little boy looked sheepish and murmured: "I … I have to … you know!" He glanced toward the Elves. "It's so eerie outside, and I don't want to ask any of them to … to come with me."

Wendy sighed and nodded. "All right, I'm coming." She turned and saw Peter lying behind her, realizing that it was his arm she felt around her waist, and -- for the briefest of moments -- she could have cursed the little redheaded brother that took her away from that. The moments Peter came near to her were rare, and she savored them. He looked so peaceful and relaxed in his sleep; his bonny face seemed even younger than when he was awake. Wendy was certain now that there was no handsomer boy in the whole world.

With keen reluctance, she gently disengaged herself from the embrace and rose. Her Indian dress lay beneath Peter's head. In his sleep, he had pulled it nearer to him as a sort of pillow. Wendy sighed. She had taken it off because, with blankets and the fur-doublet, she was warm enough in the cave, but right now she could use it. But she didn't want to waken him, not for all the gold in Neverland. He needed his sleep more than them all, and she wouldn't disturb him. That he didn't wake up as she moved away from him only proved his exhaustion. Normally he could even hear the grass grow.

Wendy sighed and tied her doublet around her. That, the cape and the boots would have to do for the time she would be outside. "I'm really sorry," Michael whispered and pulled his own cape tighter around him.

Wendy gave him a sleepy smile. "It's all right," she soothed, and took his hand. "Let's get it done with." She took a small flaming branch out of the nearby camp-fire as a torch and passed Mason, who snored indescribably. For some reason Wendy stopped beside him. Outside, it wasn't only dark and cold, but dangerous as well. Yes, there were the two sentries by the opening, but obeying her instincts, the girl carefully took the long cutlass beside the buccaneer. For a moment she felt dreadfully guilty (her conscience hadn't gotten any smaller since Hook saw her in the cape sewed from the stolen material), but then she straightened. She was just borrowing the cutlass, and Mason wouldn't need it just now.

Feeling a little bit more confident, Wendy led her brother toward the cave opening, telling the sentries, "We'll be right back," and nodding toward Michael. "He needs to … you know."

He smiled kindly, pushing a stray lock out of his kind face. "Be vigilant," he said quietly, his voice melodious as that of the others. "There is more to this darkness than the missing sun of the day."

Wendy nodded, nervous again, and took Michael's hand tighter in hers, accompanying him out into the snow. The cold hit her, and after only moving a few yards, she thought it would have been wiser if she had put on her Indian dress as well. The wind even pierced the fur, the thin cotton of her nightgown and the cape weren't enough for her arms and legs. "There?" she asked, pointing ahead at several bushes.

Michael looked shocked. "Those bushes are far too thin! I don't want the Elves to see me!"

She nodded uphill toward a stand of trees. "There's a small wood. You can relieve yourself there." Firmly she pulled him behind her, and stomped toward the trees and thicket, bypassing several other bushes. As soon as they reached them, the small boy dashed among them and Wendy waited, slapping her arms across her chest. Suddenly, she realized that she couldn't see the cave opening anymore. The thickets were too high and too dense. Oh well, at least Michael could maintain his decency. As much as she loved being back in Neverland – ignoring this whole calamity for the moment – they couldn't forget all of their breeding and habits.

The girl peered about while she waited for her brother, trying to see into the darkness. A weird feeling awoke in her. Normally she wasn't afraid of the dark. She had left that childish fear behind. But this time it was different.

This wasn't a normal night, the Elf was right. Something was lurking nearby, approaching, gathering. The sense of something unfamiliar, sinister, evil was almost palpable. The wind soughed through the branches around her, but it wasn't a sound she knew. In it were undertones of shrill voices, singing and laughing. Ice water seemed to pour down Wendy's spine. Something was coming! "Michael?" she barely whispered, not daring to speak any louder. "Hurry!"

Suddenly the voices grew clear; the laughter she might have imagined turned into a jeering croak. Wendy gripped the cutlass tightly with both hands and glanced about, but could see nothing, only the tinkle of ice-crystals and the wind in her ears …

Suddenly above her, a blast of wind came from mighty wings. The girl looked up and a scream died in her throat. In the darkness above her were definite shapes, black, shimmering arms reaching down toward her. Almost white, age-old faces sneered, and long sharp claws stretched toward her. She found she could understand them:

"Look, sisters, food!" one croaked.

"Finally! I am starving!" cawed the next.

"I knew that there would be some lovely little esculence somewhere nearby!"

"Over there is another one!" squawked the fourth.

"And so small and tender. Exactly the right thing for these old teeth."

"I told you that that man-thing you ate recently was too tough for you!"

"And you lost a tooth because of him!"

"Shut up, you two. Over there are more of them. This will be a fine evening meal!" she wheezed, and accompanied her rebuke with a sickening clacking of teeth.

They were, after all, unmistakable. For a moment, Wendy stood there, rigid with shock, while her mind screamed that these creatures were – harpies! Then her wits returned, and she ducked while the long, knife-sharp talons closed on cold air. "Michael!" she screamed, "stay where you are!" and lifted the cutlass as she evaded another attack.

The harpies flew higher, laughing horribly. "Look! She wants to play!"

"Coo – 'aven't 'ad a good 'unt in ages!"

"Try for the smaller one. They're more fun!" the first one screeched.

Wendy spread her legs to a fighting stance and raised her weapon. "Leave him alone!" she yelled, when another black creature swooped down toward her, but the girl was ready. She jabbed the cutlass upward and missed, but it made the harpies pause.

"Wendy!" Michael called, clearly afraid.

"Stay put, whatever happens!" his sister answered forcefully, and saw out of the corner of her eye that her brother retreated deeper into the bushes and into a cleft of rock, where the claws couldn't reach him. One of the winged creatures barked savagely and dove toward the thicket, but the girl placed herself between the harpy and the boy, and countered the attack. This time she struck flesh, as a scream and falling feathers proved. This was a signal for the other harpies, and they threw themselves on the girl.

Suddenly Wendy found herself surrounded by the enraged faces; the mighty raven wings, and the dagger-long talons, hacking at her. With the courage of despair, the cutlass flew about her, and more screeching proved that she had wounded another attacker. One of the claws caught her cape and pulled her aside. Wendy stumbled, trying to stand, but as another claw tangled with her hair, she finally lost her balance and fell into the trampled snow.

Triumphant cackling, like the wicked laughter of thousand hags, filled the air. "It's ours, sisters!"

"I get the first bite!"

"No! I lost feathers because of her!"

Wendy swung the cutlass at their hovering forms, but her attackers avoided it effortlessly. One of the creatures landed lightly beside her, and for the first time, she clearly saw the faces of the harpies. They were almost human – almost. The differences were small but significant. Their noses hung over their mouths, like beaks. They looked old as dirt; full of wrinkles, but their eyes glowed like coals – yellow with deep black pupils. Their mouths were lip-less, showing long sharp teeth when they laughed. The sight of the winged creatures was so shocking that Wendy almost fainted as they moved nearer; their gazes full of ravening hunger

-------------------------------------

With a startled cry, Peter woke suddenly, gasping for air, while the fringes of his dream vanished – a dream of a black winged creature, hovering above him and laughing, gloating. The shrill voice still sounded in his ears: "She is ours!"

Breathing heavily, Peter's bewildered glance swept through the twilight. Giliath woke immediately and sat up. "Peter?" he whispered, seeing the boy clearly in the dim light. "What is it? Another nightmare?"

The eternal boy didn't answer. He fought for breath and wiped a shaking hand across his forehead. Yes, a nightmare – but not just awful pictures and terrifying voices; it was rather a cramp swept through his being … and the last words of that horrible creature … His heart raced as the frightful claws reached for him... Something was wrong. His looked for Wendy and found her place empty. Completely awake now, he looked around, but she was not in the cave. "Wendy?" he called loudly, and jumped up, half tangled in blankets.

Annoyed murmurs came from the direction of the pirates, and several of the Elves lifted their heads, but the girl's voice was missing. Peter's suspicions solidified, anticipation turned into knowledge. "Wendy!" he screamed, waking all of the sleepers. Peter paid no attention to the low curses, the impatient questions and the groans around him, but whirled around to Giliath, who had fastened on his sword. "Where is--?" the boy began, but was interrupted by the sentries. One of them shouted something in their Elfish tongue, while from outside, alien shrieks grew louder. As Giliath took up his bow and quiver, Thalion was up, also armed in seconds.

That was enough for Peter. Quickly he unfastened his pipe, and lifting it to his lips, he blew several notes, alerting the boys to action. Slightly and Nibs threw off their blankets, taking their weapons, the Twins, Curly and Tootles also prepared, and John fumbled for his glasses. Across the fire, the pirates were making themselves ready, and even if they weren't as quick as the Elves, they showed a talent for battle preparation. One of the sentries quickly reported to Giliath and Thalion, before he vanished again.

"What's going on Giliath?" Peter called.

"Harpies!" he answered.

Peter stared at him. Harpies -- that ugly creature that had haunted his dreams the second time could have been a harpy. He was certain of it now. "We could simply stay in the cave and defend the entrance," Nibs suggested – always the strategist – as he took his place beside Peter.

"The cave opening is too large. They could come through anyway, and outside we have a better chance of shooting them without hurting one of us," Slightly pointed out.

Peter nodded, readying himself for the fight. Whether the attackers were like the ones in his dreams or not no longer mattered, because right now he had a battle to win. "All right, we fight. Boys, with me. Michael and the Twins will remain here. Search for Wendy! She must be here somewhere!"

The eternal boy rushed the exit, several Elves followed him. Behind him, he heard the Twins calling for Michael, the pirates getting ready, and Mason cursing about a missing cutlass. That was usually Peter's own prank, because the thought of a buccaneer losing his own cutlass was priceless.

But this time Peter had no time for jokes. It was too dangerous to let his concentration slip. Outside, he oriented himself quickly, and located the attackers, a startling sight, for they looked exactly like the beasts in his dreams.

"All right, you ugly crows, we do this MY way!" he growled. With drawn sword, he raced out of the safe shelter into the cold and threw himself upon a black creature that had driven one of the two Elf sentries to the ground. "Leave him alone, you stupid bird!" Peter snarled and his sword hit home. With a revolting squeak, the harpy fell dead in the snow. The Elf breathed a sigh of relief, holding the slice in his left upper arm, rose and gave the boy a quick nod before he picked up his own weapon and joined his comrades in the fight.

"They are dozens!" Giliath called, his bow snapping quickly, and feathered bodies hitting the snow. Around them the battle was raging. The Elves shot as many harpies down as possible. The boys and the first of the pirates attacked with swords, striking at everything feathered. The air was filled with the swish of the arrows and the war-cries of the Elves, the cursing of the pirates, the angry shouts of the boys, the shrieks of the harpies. The entire area in front of the cave was in chaos.

"They're comin' from ever'where!" Cecco called.

Mason pulled his pistol, aimed and shot. The boom echoed from the mountains, and another harpy found an early end. "Where's my cutlass?" the ugly gunman screamed.

"Ye shoulda kept a better watch on it!" one of comrades retorted as he killed another harpy.

"Who's t'at foolish so's 'e steals from a pirate?" Mason gave back.

"No one! Ye've idled it away!" Cecco answered, before he shouted at a surprised harpy reaching for his face: "Away wit' ye, ye ugly excuse fer a raven." He paused to sneer at the abomination. "Ye look like yer mother was practicin' Voodoo!" For a moment, the harpy looked perplexed – what had this food on two legs said? – and before she could react, Cecco's sword sank into her black heart, and she no longer wondered about anything anymore.

"Anyone seen the cap'n?" Smee called as he fought another really tenacious winged creature.

Peter heard him and turned toward the bo'sun. "Where's Hook?" he loudly asked Smee.

The Irishman, who had just killed his attacker with an angry: "Snuff it, ye silly fatstock!" straightened his shoulders and glanced at the boy. "Don't know, Pan. He wasn't in the cave when the attack started."

"Typical!" Peter scowled, killing another harpy. "The time we really need him is the one time he isn't there!" the boy scoffed.

The cries above him grew deafening, and he could make out their shrill words:

"There he is, sisters!"

"The boy! The boy!"

"Cop him!"

"The Master will be grateful!"

Peter narrowed his eyes, glaring up at the murder of harpies directly above him. The bloodlust was fully awakened now, and he gripped his sword tighter. "You want me? Then come and get me!" With these words, he took the air and darted among the dark creatures.

"Peter!" Giliath screamed, clearly terrified. "_At il nen i celeb-eithel_ – by the Waters of the Silver-Fountain, come back!"

"No, boy! They will tear you apart!" Thalion added and sent an arrow into the swarm.

"Pan! Are ye tired of living!" Smee shouted with them, and watched fight between boy and harpies, until he himself was attacked again.

It was as though Peter never heard. He darted among the swarm, taking off two heads along the way, then holding his sword at the ready. The broad-faces stared at him, surprised, then the feathered creatures started to circle. "Look, sisters, he really can fly!" one of them called  
delightedly.

"Hey, little boy, pushy, aren't you?" another one sneered.

"The air is ours, flyspeck!"

"So impudent!"

"It must be punished!"

"Dead or alive, has the Master said?"

"Take him, sisters."

Peter frowned. "Not so fast, ladies," he said mockingly. "Someone else has previous rights on me – even if this someone shines in his own absence for the moment." Warily he turned about, never taking his eyes off his winged opponents. There were more than a dozen left, and they flew about him, quite assured that he would be a very good midnight snack.

"Oooh, he looks delicious!"

"And so nicely wrapped in greens!"

Peter finally had enough. A broad, cocky grin appeared on his face – all fear had fallen away again. "Really? Then we all want to find out if I'm really as tasty as you seem to think!" He attacked.

The harpies laughed tauntingly and avoided him, then countered his attacks. But they didn't believe that the boy was accustomed to fighting in the air. It wasn't long before Peter determined how the feathered creatures moved and how they coordinated their attacks. One after another he wounded or killed, until one of them fell on him and knocked his sword out his hand. But it was no use, for a heartbeat later, an arrow picked the harpy out of the air. Another beast came from the left and its teeth grazed Peter's arm. "Ouch!" the boy screamed. "That hurts, you daft bird!"

The harpy croaked triumphantly. "He tastes sweet, sisters!"

"Sweet? _Sweet_?" That was really enough for Peter. Gripping his knife, he whirled like a small tornado between the winged creatures, his knife doing a deadly dance between them. This strategy was most effective. In no time, another half dozen harpies fell dead. The boy had several minor wounds by now and a nasty cut on his forehead, but he raged among them without pause.

One of the harpies flew at him as he moved to wipe the blood out his eyes, and tangled its claws in his cape. "Let go, you feathered hag!" Peter snarled and struck at it, but the creature moved aside pulling him with it. Another harpy approached him from behind, but it never reached him, because one of Giliath's arrows brought it down. Peter was oblivious to the fact that the Elves' arrows fetched one harpy after the other out of the skies. He fought doggedly with that one that had hold of his cape, drawing him closer and closer. The boy had difficulty keeping his balance and his distance from the teeth.

"I have you now, sonny!" the feathered creature giggled and looked at him hungrily.

"Sonny?" Peter hissed back. "I really can't imagine you as my mother!" He twisted about and flew eye to eye, in front of the harpy, twisting his expression into one of disgust. "Ewww, are you _ugly_!"

Outraged the harpy snapped at him – providing the boy, who dodged effortlessly, with a very good target for his knife. He cut off her head, and chicken-like, her wings continued to flap as she trundled toward the ground, blood spurting from the headless neck. Regrettably she still had her claws firmly tangled in Peter's cape, so that she dragged the boy with her.

"Let go!" Peter shouted and realized that the creature couldn't react to his rebuke, that she was now pulling him down. "God's blood!" he gasped and tried desperately to hold himself and the weight of the dead foe in the air. It wasn't enough, but at least he could slow the fall. "Ahoy down there!" he called, and saw the startled face of Smee beneath him. Then came the impact.

"Ouch!" Peter yelled as he landed hard, but not as hard as feared, on something that gave an "Umpf" and went motionless. It wasn't any better for the boy. He'd had the breath knocked out of him, his back hurt and the cut on his forehead was bleeding freely. For a moment, Peter closed his eyes to collect his strength. When he opened them again, he looked into the grinning faces of Billy Jukes, Robert Mullins, Cecco, Bollard, Giliath, Nibs and Slightly, who bent over him.

"You alright, Peter, all pieces still attached?" Slightly asked. The eternal boy nodded wearily.

"Wow! That was a great fight!" Nibs said, clearly amazed.

Mason cleared his throat. "Was t'at on purpose, boy?"

Peter frowned. "What do you mean, Mason?" He looked from face to face, finally spotting a tousled Giliath, who seemed to have trouble hiding his laughter. Nibs and Slightly started to giggle, as well, and Peter looked about, puzzled. What was so funny?

Suddenly the ground beneath him started to move and to groan. Surprised, the eternal boy blinked up at his friends and the pirates – what the heck was that?– and then a voice sounded from beneath him: "Get your damned arse offa me, Pan, or I'll take over t'e cap'n's work an' finish ye off meself!"

Peter suddenly realized why he his landing was so gentle, and why the ground beneath him was moving. His eyes widened, and quickly he rolled aside into the trodden snow, pushed himself up on his hands and knees– and burst out laughing.

Smee, face down in the snow, had lost his hat and glasses, his beard full of snow. Said hat was squashed, his glasses were askew and one of his suspenders had come loose. He blinked up to the eternal boy and his old eyes narrowed. "Don't try 'n' say t'at was an accident, Pan!"

Peter shook with laughter, and his friends joined him as well as Giliath and – oh wonder! – several of the pirates. The sight of Smee in this condition was simply too droll! "O'course it was an accident, Mr. Smee! But thank you for catching me! That was flipping nice of you."

The old man slowly sat up and picked up his hat. When he saw what had happened to his one and only hat, he turned red with anger. "Just wait, ye damn rascal! When t'e cap'n gets you, on that day I'll ask to try t'e cat on ye!"

"He'll never get me, so I think you'll have to wait for your revenge," the boy grinned and stood up. All about them lay the fallen harpies, and the rest of them croaked high above, but their noise grew less and less as they retreated. "Did we finish them off?" he asked and Thalion walked over to him, clearly amused.

"Not all, but surely most," he replied, seeing the departing harpies spiraling upward, still cursing shrilly.

Peter stood arms akimbo, and cocked his head. "They had enough for tonight. I don't think they'll return. Peter Pan and pirates _and_ Elves are just too much for any foe!"

Thalion laughed aloud. "Nothing can mar your good mood!" The boy shrugged and grinned at him.

"That good mood o' yourn'll find an end as soon as the cap'n gets you in his hand and hook," Smee growled, trying to straighten his glasses, ignoring the boys congratulating each other.

Peter looked about. "We'll see, won't we, Hooky?" To his utter surprise, the dark, cynical voice didn't answer. Now on alert, Peter looked about, but couldn't find the tall figure in the red and black clothes. "Hook?" he called, but Hook did not answer him. This could not be. The captain would NEVER miss a fight. He and Hook had one thing in common: they couldn't refuse a good challenge.

Smee was finally aware of his commander's absence as well, and spun about. "Cap'n?" he called loudly. "Where be you, Sir?"

Again the pirate-captain didn't answer; instead, Twin 1 came running out of the cave, yelling for Peter. The boy ran toward the cave. "What is it?" he called, wiping the blood from his forehead with a handful of snow.

"Wendy and Michael are nowhere around!"

"Michael as well?" Peter gasped.

Twin 2 had reached them as well. "You don't understand. He wasn't there when you told us to search for Wendy. I tried to tell you, but you ran out into the battle."

John now approached, still out of breath. "What was that? My sister and my brother are missing?"

The eternal boy was furious. "Wendy… Michael…" he whispered, "missing like Hook."

Giliath heard the report from one of the sentries, and addressed Peter. "Mahilh told me that Captain Hook left the cave, nearly a half hour before the harpies attacked."

Flushed with anger, Peter narrowed his eyes. "Hook!" He whirled around to Smee. "If your captain has played us the fool and betrayed us to the harpies, I swear I'll kill him very slowly!" he hissed.

For a moment the old boatswain was lost for words, then straightened his shoulders and suddenly seemed much younger. Every quiver had left his voice as, outraged, he defended his captain, shaking his finger in the boy's face. "Don't you dare accuse the captain of any type of betrayal, boy! Captain Hook may be a pirate, but he's also a real gentleman who always keeps his word, even to the bitter end. He has promised to ally with ye, and would rather die as to break his word, ya ungrateful brat!"

Peter's eyes shot daggers. "Then tell me where he is, why did he avoid a _fight_, and why did he leave the cave a half hour before the attack?"

Giliath interrupted, "There is more to this tale, Peter. Nigh afore the attack, Wendy and Michael left the cave as well, for the boy to relief himself."

Peter gasped and even in the dark looked pale. "They … they've been out here … all this time? Alone?" he whispered and ice-water flowed in his veins. A new kind of feeling crept through his being, made him feel helpless, made him tremble. He knew exactly what harpies did with their prey: they took them to a secret place and fed on them. And there had been so many of them ... According to their habit, they attacked everything living. How could an unarmed girl and small boy fight them? They had been delivered into the claws of those foul beasts without any protection! And he – Peter Pan – had done nothing to help them! He hadn't even considered the possibility that they could have been outside and in danger! "Wendy!" he whispered and even Smee could see the desperate expression on the boy's storm-dark eyes.

In that moment, an eerie screech of a harpy on the nearby hill echoed down to them – and life returned to Peter. "Leave them alone!" he shouted, and snow flew up as he shot into the air. Giliath, Thalion and some of the other Elves tried to follow him, pirates and boys at their heels. Normally the Elves had no problem following a human, but this time they lost sight of Peter as the boy shot like a cannonball into the darkness.

Peter flew faster than ever before, faster than a bullet from Hook's pistol had ever made him fly, faster as the wild hope surged in him that he would be in time to rescue Wendy, Michael … They had to be alive!

Despite the deep darkness that made a safe flight impossible, the Prince of Neverland sped through the night. In his thoughts, only one thing: Wendy. His Wendy. Of course he cared for Michael as well, but that was nothing like his concern for the girl. Half enraged, half desperate he knocked branches out of his way, avoided the mountainside at the last split-second, and flew toward the place from which the harpy's cry had come.

A man's voice beneath him shouted a loud "Down!" and Peter saw the drama that had taken place while the rest of them had fought off the flock.

With a cry, he threw his knife. "NOOOO!"

TBC…


	15. The Rescue

**Chapter 14 – The Rescue **

The screeching about her grew, now louder than train whistles. The mighty wings blew fetid air at the children as the harpies landed nearby the girl and hopped closer. "Wendy!" Michael cried, and started to leave his shelter to help his sister, who lay numb with terror at the ground. But hearing her little brother renewed her determination.

"Stay back!" she screamed, swinging her cutlass at the abomination bending over her. The beast hopped backward, clearly irritated, but cackled mockingly. Wendy quickly rolled away, trying to make room enough to jump up, but the harpies were clever hunters, and two of them snatched her cape, while a third one threw herself on the girl's chest. The sharp talons pierced the furl of her doublet and the cape, grazing her arm and slicing her hip. Her view of the trees above was obliterated by the ragged black wings of the harpy on her chest, while the creature croaked triumphantly in eager anticipation. Another claw tore her nightgown, while a third harpy hopped toward her and bent over, mouth open. The rank stench of death and decay hit her. Blackness threatened to overwhelm her, and in desperation, struck again with the cutlass, but one of the beasts took it in her long talons and tore it out of her hand, while the sharp teeth reached for Wendy's throat.

The girl shrieked one last time for help – when a roar drowned out the drooling coos of the winged beasts. A long metal shimmer whirled through the air and struck off the head of the harpy perched on Wendy's chest, then splitting the second beast beside her in two. Warm blood sprayed down on her. The rest of the feathered creatures squawked savagely, and as one, turned from the girl toward the opponent who tried to steal their fresh meat.

Too scared to do anything else, Wendy propped herself on her elbow and looked for her rescuer. The darkness was too deep to allow her see anything clearly, but the white of the snow added some clarity. Black boots were firmly planted in the snow, coattails of a frock coat fluttered in the wind, here and there winked something golden, and wild black curls hung around broad shoulders, topped by a large feathered hat.

The creatures rallied, and moved to attack, but retreated as the long blade struck again and this time killed two more of them. With deafening screeches, they fluttered up and circled over the little clearing; their wild threats hardly human words now.

Hook used that moment pull Wendy to her feet. "Behind me!" he ordered, and never was there a command she was more happy to obey. The pirate-captain held the hilt of his mighty sword in a practiced grip. "Come here, you hag-faced crows! I'll make a fine noodle soup out of you!" he shouted and threw in the typical gesture with his head.

"Noodle soup!" one of the harpies squealed. "Sisters, the two-leg wants to eat _us!"_ Croaking and jeering sounded around the man and the girl and then one of the larger harpies swooped toward them. Hook timed his blow, then struck with all his might. With a nasty rattling caw, the creature fell dead in the snow.

It was then all hell broke loose. The winged beasts flocked into the air about them, hacked and struck at him, but his sword and hook raged horribly among them. It wasn't long before almost a dozen lay dead about them, their blood soaking the snow.

Wendy had recovered enough to realize their danger. Wherever his metal claw or his sword lashed out, he picked another one of the creatures out of the air, but they were many. Too many. And they came from all sides, even from behind. Frantically, the girl searched for and found her lost cutlass, and darted to it. Picking it up, she cast off her fear: It was she and Hook or those flying devils, and so the decision wasn't so difficult.

She felt a breeze in her neck and ducked, driving the cutlass upward. A pained screech above her proved she had acted well. The harpy mounted upward, losing blood. Wendy hastened back to the buccaneer, avoiding another attack and earned mocking laughter from the harpy, though it tore another slice in her cape. With the courage of three, she tried her very best to protect Hook's back, while the pirate battled with all his strength unleashed on the attackers.

Wendy caught a quick gaze at his face and saw a ferocious joy. The blue eyes sparkled red and glowed with the urge to kill. The whole man pulsated with a cheerful bloody rage, and in a clear second, the girl wondered how Peter had managed to survive this powerful enemy again and again.

Suddenly one of the beasts fell on Hook from directly above, and stretched her long talons toward him. Wendy caught its motion and shouted "Look out!" but it was too late. The wide brim of his hat had prevented this view, and so the attack seemed to come from nowhere. The harpy buried her sharp talons in his right upper arm and shoulder, and snatched his hat away.

Hook cried out, and wildly struck his sword in his attacker's direction while he tried to shake the beast off. The result was that the monster's claws gripped tighter, and she flapped her wings to hold her balance, so that the buccaneer was blinded by feathers. The harpy screeched, sure of her victory, and yanked one claw out of Hook's shoulder with a sickening noise. He yelped in agony, but she grasped his long hair with her mouth and dragged his head back to expose his throat. The buccaneer plunged his sword at the harpy, but to no avail. Finally, sharp teeth only inches from his throat, he dropped the sword and seized the harpy's chin, using all his strength to hold her away from him. This allowed another beast to fly to him and to hack at him, but the pirate lifted his hook to finish it off, moaning in pain as the harpy on his shoulder clamped her talons deeper in his right arm to prevent this.

Simultaneously, a third harpy hopped nearer and bit his thigh. Hook shouted in pain and kicked at the new aggressor, almost losing his balance. Desperately he tried to remain on his feet. He knew it would be certain death if he fell now. The miserable creatures would lunge at him as one and tear him apart.

Wendy saw the change in the direction of the fight, heard his angry shouts. She knew the creatures would kill them both at their first opening, and as Hook started to crumple, and finally was forced down on one knee, fury awoke in her, chasing away fright once again. No! Those ridiculous beasts would get neither one of them! With the speed of thought, she leaped to the buccaneer, aimed and struck. This time it was a proper slice, and the beast on Hook's shoulder was catapulted away. The harpy never uttered a sound as she fell.

Scarcely was Hook free of the beast when he surged upward and dealt a murderous blow with his metal claw at the harpy before him. The monster limped away, whimpering, but the injury was fatal. She might survive this night, but surely no more.

Another harpy attacked, and Hook gritted his teeth. The pain in the pirate's shoulder was agony, but he was too stubborn and too proud to give up. _By God, he had freed himself from the gullet of a crocodile! What were a few ugly oversized crows? Who did they think they were – and who did they think he was? Why, he was James Hook, Captain of the Jolly Roger, the only man Barbeque feared, the Scourge of the Seven Seas! James Hook would not find his end between the teeth and claws of some gaudy feathered hags!_

With superhuman strength, he leaped to his sword, whirled around and finished off two other harpies. A third one got his hook in its belly, and a fourth one was hurled against the next tree, as he used his claw again. "You want more?" he gasped, and saw out of the edge of his eyes, how Wendy stabbed another winged attacker and sent it to the devil.

The remaining harpies had had enough. With colorful curses, they spiraled up and flew away. It seemed as though their screeches joined that of other harpies down the hill, but they didn't return. Only one of them remained, hidden in the behind some bushes. She was the largest and the ugliest by far.

Hook fought for breath, his right upper arm and shoulder seemed to be on fire and he bled out of several scratches. His frock coat was torn, his hat was somewhere in the dark, and his curls were reduced to a wild mane. But still he stood proudly among his fallen enemies, scanning them with cooling eyes, and finally threw his bloody sword in the snow, clearly disgusted. "Loathsome detritus!" he growled and turned away. For a moment, he thought he might faint, as the mountainside started to whirl around him, and blackness began to creep into view, then he straightened his back, shook his head, and took a deep breath. The cold air cleared his mind and he tried his very best to banish the pain into the furthest edge of his consciousness – without any real success. The injury hurt like hell.

To distract himself, he turned toward his comrade-in-arms, who only yards away. The girl still held her cutlass tightly, peering about defiantly, with large eyes. "You alright?" he asked, and assessed her appearance. Her nightgown and doublet were spotted with blood, as well as her cape. Her hair, usually a thick curtain of silk, was tousled and she seemed to be bleeding from her left arm.

She glanced at him, silent and uncomprehending, and nodded finally. Hook moved to her side, lifted her left arm with his hand and gently pulled the cotton of her sleeve away, using his claw. It was only a scratch, not very deep, but appallingly close to her heart. "That was close," he murmured, and noticed she had begun to tremble, eyes filling with tears. Something came up in him, something that didn't want to see her cry and which he couldn't control in the moment. "Shh, beauty," he heard himself saying, and the pirate in him groaned: _'Shut up! You can't be touched by the simple sight of few tears from this little bitch! She will shed a lot of more of them when you finally make her pay!'_ But another part of him, a part which seemed to have grown stronger during the last days, now shoved aside the cold-blooded buccaneer. "Everything is alright now," he murmured and tried to reach her. She didn't react, clearly a sign of shock. His gaze found her cutlass, and gently he took it from her and let it fall. "You don't need it anymore. They are gone."

"Wendy?"

Trembling, Michael crept out of his hideout, ignoring the sinister pirate, and ran to his sister. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?" he asked.

The voice of her little brother broke through the shock of the girl, and she looked down at him before she nodded her head. This wasn't completely true. Her left arm and hip burned like fire, and she felt quite cold. She lifted her hand and stroked the red hair of the boy, while she tried to blink back her tears. Her lower lip started to wobble, and another tear rolled over her pale cheek, before her eyes closed with a sob. When she opened them again, she saw the numerous feathered creatures lying dead all around her; their blood darkening the snow.

It came to her that this hadn't been a nasty nightmare, but harsh reality. This murder of hag-faced crows and tried to _eat_ her! And Hook, of all people, had AGAIN come to her rescue! This was now the second time that he had saved her life, risking himself for her. She heard him soothingly murmuring something to her, his voice still dark and purring, if somewhat strained, and her strength left her. For a long moment she simply forgot that he was an enemy as well, someone who wanted to kill her friend, who had sworn vengeance on her. Suddenly, for a long moment, he was only a man who had protected her and who seemed to offer her comfort after a horrible ordeal.

In utter amazement, Hook stared down at the girl as she relaxed into him, wrapped her arm around his waist, and buried her face at his chest, now weeping softly. Her small shoulders twitched and her slender body shook with the force of her restrained sobs as well as with the trembling shock and cold that crept through them both. For several seconds, the pirate-captain went rigid. He wasn't used to this. Children didn't seek out his nearness nor comfort from him. But then he remembered that Wendy hadn't pulled away the other time, when he held her on the beach after the tidal wave, either. And for reasons he didn't want to consider, he didn't push her away, but hesitantly embraced her and the boy, ignoring the inferno in his shoulder and arm.

For several seconds warmth and relief flooded him; relief that they had made it – again. Relief that … that he had come in time … and… and that, dammit, she wasn't badly hurt! Alas, where was that grim pirate he knew so well when he needed him most? Whenever this girl was involved it was hard to even remember that he _was_ a pirate, and she his soon-to-be prey.

Too exhausted to wonder further, he decided to let it happen this one time, and his left hand made circles on her back. "There, there!" he whispered, and gently he pulled her closer. He could feel her snuggling to him, while her arm tightened around his waist. And if he hadn't been so damn tired after the battle, he would have been angry for feeling a new wave of human warmth. "Hush, beauty, it is over now! They're dead!" he murmured and squeezed her gently. His gaze found the ugly feathered corpses, and between them the one that had injured him so, killed by the girl. "That was well struck, my dear, my respects. Did you learn all that from my little lesson the other day? Perhaps you would reconsider my offer, and join my crew, hmm?"

A mixture of sob and laughter escaped her and she shook her head, while she pressed herself even closer to him, seeking now not only comfort, but his warmth as well. Hook sighed and propped his chin on her head, without realizing what he was doing. "It's all right, little one. This is the other side of those adventure stories you tell so well. Sometimes they turn out to be quite unpleasant."

"And then the shining knight comes," choked the teary voice, and he chuckled.

"If your knight looks like a pirate, my hearty, then you're right. Or did you really intend to pay me a compliment for a change?"

Wendy attempted a giggle, but wasn't successful. She was trying very hard to calm down, but the tears and trembling wouldn't stop, and the strong embrace of the buccaneer was a welcome defense against the cold. She felt his heartbeat beneath the velvet of his frock coat and the silk of his shirt. For the first time, she recognized his scent – soap, perfumed hair oil, tobacco and something else, something she couldn't identify. Somewhere beneath thought, Wendy knew that it was simply James, his unique scent such as everyone possessed, but – except for Peter – she'd never been aware of it on anyone before. And just now, it was pleasant and calmed her. The warmth of his lean body quieted her, and she sighed as her own heartbeat slowed and she began to feel normal. How could this be? But she felt secure in his arms.

Michael gazed up at his older sister. He hardly ever saw her cry, and seeing it happen mixed up his whole little childish world. He knew her as strong, as someone who fought for her opinion and point of view. To see her crying now – in the arms of the most dangerous man of Neverland and the Seven Seas, someone who had tried to kill her before and who had vowed vendetta against her – made him uneasy. He glanced up at the pirate-captain, who stared blankly into the darkness, lost in thought.

James Hook clenched his teeth and tried stir up his wrath against the girl again, but without success. What was this voodoo she employed against him? Twice now he had thrown his vengeful intentions to the wind; and twice he had saved her instead of simply watching her die; twice she had wakened his protective instincts, allaying the urge to kill her. By lateral equation! He had saved her from an enormous tidal-wave! And moments ago he jumped into the middle of a swarm of hag-faced giant crows, almost ending up bird-food! He'd been injured – seriously, he could tell – and worst of all, he now gathered her in his arms and comforted her! Damn this little devil with the angel-face! She had manipulated him – again! It seemed that the snow not only froze Neverland but his brain as well! This was the only plausible explanation for the loss of his malice toward her somewhere along the way.

Wendy felt his riotous mood and lifted her head to look at him. The red sparks had left his eyes, which glanced with unusual gentleness down on her. His face was flushed, but in a way she had only seen once before: four days ago at the beach, after she had regained conscious; the day he had come to her rescue the first time. "Thank you," she whispered. "You saved me – again."

The pirate-captain smirked. "Must I watch my back again?"

Wendy blushed and smiled shyly. "I never wished to harm you, but you … you had Peter and were ready to kill him. I had to act." She sighed and dashed several tears away. "Thank you most kindly for your help."

He grumbled something beneath his breath she couldn't understand, lifted his hand to wipe the tears from her cold cheeks – a touch that made her uneasy, even if she didn't know why. "Your obedient servant, Miss Darling," he finally answered sarcastically, wondering at the smoothness of her skin. He had almost forgotten …

Quickly he turned his thoughts in another direction. "But this time it is I who must thank you as well, beauty. Without you, this damn beast would have done worse, for I was well nigh done in." He knew he hadn't overstated – he would have died without her help. These accursed crows would surely have killed him. Again, Wendy gave him one of her shy, glowing smiles, and for a moment his expression turned tender. Alas, her look could soften a stone and --

And suddenly the air was filled with the wild tangle of giant wings, while a shrill screech sounded behind him. "Down!" he yelled and instinctively shoved Wendy and Michael to the ground, throwing himself above them. Pain shot through his shoulder and arm, shaking him, making him despair of his ability to protect them.

That same moment, he heard the boyish voice screaming "NOOOOO!" while they heard the hiss of an arrow and the thud of a blade, followed by a painful squawk. Then it was silent. Carefully Hook pushed himself up, groaning as his right shoulder and arm seemed to catch fire, and glanced about him, while he held the girl and her brother securely beneath him. Just out of arm's reach was the largest harpy he had yet to see; pale arrow protruding from her body, along with the hilt of a very familiar dagger.

Swift feet approached, and a boy dropped from overhead, then Peter Pan appeared at his side looking even more untidy than usual. With eyes long adjusted to the winter-dark, Hook saw the scratches on the boy's arms and another on his forehead, still bleeding. In his eyes was something Hook didn't often see in this old foe: fear.

"Wendy!" he called; voice shivering. The girl glanced up while the buccaneer pulled her gently to a sitting position. Michael rose as well, still terrified. Immediately, Peter bent, wrapping his arms around Wendy, who hissed at the pain in her hip, but didn't resist. Peter's eyes found Michael. "You two alright?" he asked.

"_Dranna dreckhtha_ harpies!" Giliath grumbled, looking around, arrow notched in the bow. His cape was torn and his silky hair tousled. It is a very rare thing to see an Elf out of breath, but Giliath qualified. Never had he run so quickly. Behind him, other Elves arrived, Thalion among them, quickly assessing the scene. Slightly, Nibs and John arrived and shoved past the Elfish warriors, followed by Billy Jukes, Cecco, Albino, Cookson and Smee.

"Wendy! Michael!" John called, running toward the small group. He dropped beside them. "Are you hurt? What happened? Why are you out here?"

Hook shot him a glare. "Let her draw a breath, boy! Can't you see she's beside herself?" John stared at him, dumbfounded. Had the pirate really taken Wendy's part?

The girl took a deep breath and leaned toward Peter, whose arms tightened around her; a sight that annoyed Hook far more than he liked. She briefly told what happened; how she and Michael had left the cave at his request; how the harpies had attacked her and how Hook had battled them. Peter's eyes grew wide, unbelieving, gazing at his sworn enemy. He took in the man's torn and disheveled appearance; saw the blood seeping through the material at his right arm and the bloody blade, and finally realized what Hook had done: "You… you protected her!" he whispered, a statement, not a question.

The buccaneer frowned, and drew himself upward, bristling. "We have a pact, Pan," he answered with a stiff voice. "And that includes your little friends as well. James Hook doesn't give his word lightly, but when he does, nothing will break it." Then he pointed at the dead creatures, and his tone grew mocking again. "It seems as though there are others besides me who don't like you, except as food."

Wendy giggled at pirate's black humor. She met his eyes and for a second she thought she saw a twinkle in the blue depths; but it vanished so quickly in the dark, she decided she was mistaken. She watched Hook rising and accepted his offered hand. Gallantly he tugged her to her feet, his warm hand holding her smaller, cold one a moment longer than he had to, and turned to Michael. "The next time you feel a nightly urge, find a place that doesn't put your sister in mortal danger!" He met Wendy's eyes, threw a dark glance around him, picked up his bloody sword and stomped toward his men.

He had to put some distance between himself and that girl before she broke down the rest of the walls he had built up so carefully around himself. Bloody hell! How was he going to maintain a deadly wrath against her when he allowed himself to get wrapped around her little finger every time he met her? "Smee!" he barked. "Why do you and all my men resemble plucked chickens?" That his own appearance was identical didn't matter.

The bo'sun straightened. "Sir, we was awakened by a great turmoil outside the cave, and were forced to fight."

"Yes! And?"

The Irishman blinked surprised. "Ye know it, Sir?"

"I heard them coming – the reason I was able to save our little minx over there!" He glanced back at the children. Peter seemed to be asking the girl something, because she nodded, while he warmly laid one arm around her shoulders – a gesture Hook never would have expected from the boy. And against his will he felt something scratching in his chest; a green devil he knew all too well, and which he had never thought would awaken because of _this_ girl!

Grumbling, he found his hat, picked it up, made a face when he saw that two of the glorious feathers were broken. He strode back to his men and the Elves, and finding Thalion, asked with a nod toward the dead harpies, "Isn't it true that you and your men are here to help us? So what in blazes happened?"

The Elfish commander leaned on his bow and answered calmly: "We have spies, the enemy has spies. This is the way of war, before the final battle."

Hook stared at him, sneered, and shook his head. "Unbelievable. And Pan calls me arrogant!" Without looking around he shouted, "Smee? Follow me!"

The Irishman wearily replied, "Aye, Cap'n!"

Peter watched Hook and his men leave the mountainside in the direction of the cave. "I don't like to admit it," he said softly, "but we're lucky he was here!" He glanced at Wendy and for the first time he wasn't uneasy about holding her close – just the opposite. He was grateful he still had her near. He knew that he would have lost her if Hook hadn't interfered.

Wendy nodded. "Yes. Somehow he seems to be around whenever I get into danger." She sighed. "And I don't know why he helps me."

Peter watched her. He felt the onset of relief and gladness. He saw that the mere thought of losing her was like a knife in his heart, and that he was still able to talk to her, to touch her, that she was a light for him in the middle of the deepest, darkest night. Ignoring the delighted boys around him, congratulating him and themselves, counting dead harpies and shoving the biggest with their booted feet, he let his eyes wander to her sweet face, over her pale cheeks and tracks of her tears, down to her torn clothes and the he saw the blood on her left arm. "You're hurt!" he gasped and took her hand in his.

Wendy shook her head. "Not badly," she murmured, her own eyes responding to his look of adoration. "Only scratches. Captain Hook took much worse. One of those awful harpies landed on his shoulder and tried to tear his throat. I'm sure he's in a lot of pain."

Peter's glance wandered down into the blood-drenched snow. "I don't get it," he whispered. "Captain Codfish, of all people, saved you – again." Then the icy tension left him for good. Wendy was alive! And well! That was all that mattered! He threw back his head an exploded with a mighty crow of victory, which was echoed by the boys and made Wendy laugh. And suddenly again fatigue crept into him. It came with the utter relief of her safety, and for a second, he felt the wild urge to press her close; to hold her, to give her thimble. But again – the part that was the eternal boy wouldn't allow it.

Clearing his throat he smiled at her. "Let's go back to the cave. We all need to warm up again."

"They were more than I thought," came Giliath's voice beside them.

"How many?" Peter asked.

"Our foe numbered more than fifty at the cave, and here I have counted twenty-three."

Peter gasped. "Twenty-three? All killed by Hook?" In that moment, he realized anew the prowess of his opponent.

"Not all," Wendy corrected him. "I killed three!"

"You killed three of them?" the boys squeaked, staring at the girl, who straightened proudly.

"She did! She did!" Michael cried. "I saw her! She was bloody marvelous!"

"Michael! Language!" his sister corrected out of habit.

"Aye!" Peter started to grin. "That's my girl. If Wendy takes a sword, the enemy has nothing to laugh at anymore!"

In spite of the cold, a soft pink crept into her cheeks, and her gaze traveled over him again. Gently she touched his forehead. "Are you alright?"

Peter nodded and exchanged a quick glance with Giliath. "Nothing we couldn't handle – as well as you." He retrieved his knife from the ugly giant he and the Elf had brought down, cleaned it in the snow, replaced it at his belt and returned to Wendy. "All right, everyone. Back to the cave!" Without asking, he lifted her on his arms and took the air, ignoring Giliath.

"Peter, you must not fly or …" The Elf's voice vanished behind them.

Wendy looked down on the Elves and her brother and friends, before the tops of the trees and bushes blocked their view. She did so look forward to the warm cave. Giliath, Thalion and their warriors once more looked over the dead harpies before they and the boys started to walk back to their shelter.

-----------------------------

None of them saw when the last one, the largest, opened her eyes as the men finally left the clearing. With convulsing claws, she pulled the Elfish arrow out of her body and rose on trembling legs. Small cold eyes looked about while she fought for air. She cocked her head and listened intensely, but everything was silent. Her sisters were all dead. Fury awoke in the awful winged creature. The mortal men, those dreadful children and those horrible Elves would pay dearly for this!

Collecting her strength, she flapped her mighty wings and, with some difficulty, mounted into the dark skies.

The Master would be very interested in this news.

TBC…


	16. Soft Hands, Helping Hands

**Chapter 15 – Soft Hands, Helping Hands**

Back at the cave, the allies saw to one another's injuries. Peter, who refused aid for his "scratches" as he called them, went from one boy to the other, praising them as he heard their stories of the battle, helped Tootles with a nasty cut in his arm, and later approached Giliath, who was mixing herbs in a small bowl of warm water. Curious, the eternal boy watched until the clear green eyes of the Elf met his. "What is it that you're mixing there?" the boy asked.

Not pausing, Giliath answered, "It's a healing-potion. It prevents wounds from getting infected, helps them heal, and acts as an anodyne."

"A what?"

The Elf smiled indulgently, "A pain-killer."

Carefully Peter sniffed the mixture and looked surprised at the Elf. "It smells good! Isn't medicine supposed to stink?"

A light laughter was his answer – a bell-like sound that chased away the remaining unnatural feelings of everyone in the cave. Even the grumbling curses from the pirates died down. "No, Peter, it need not to stink – nor to taste badly. I pray thee, consider thus: when you feel poorly, or aggravated, or tempted to self-pity, think you that the substance that might help you would sicken you with its smell or appearance? Nae, a cure for illness or injury is more than simple chemistry. One must first strengthen and soothe the heart, and afterward the body. To be sure, serious wounds must be dressed first. But as soon as the wounded one – or the ill one – is aware of his surroundings, the balm for the spirit is essential, for only a whole, strong soul can cure a weak body."

Peter had listened closely. He didn't understand everything, but what Giliath said made sense to him. His face broke into a new grin. "I'll have to remember that when Wendy threatens us with medicine when the boys are being too rowdy!"

The Elf had to laugh. "I must agree with Captain Hook. She is a good story-teller!"

"Quite so. She probably has the best imagination of any of us."

The Elf rose. "Let's see if she is as brave when we use the salve. It is particularly beneficial for open wounds – but it burns at first."

Peter thought a moment, then nodded. "She'll take it. She's the bravest girl I ever met."

Giliath gave him a look only Elves could give. "You're quite fond of her, are you not?"

Pink spread over the boy's cheeks. "She's alright," he murmured, looking at the floor of the cave. Giliath hid another smile, then walked over to the girl and knelt beside her. Peter saw that Thalion and several of the other Elves had created their own mixtures, applying it to the comrades who had been more seriously wounded by the harpies. Thanks to their extraordinary talents, only three warriors were hurt badly, but would recover, and sooner than any human could.

Giliath carefully examined the long shallow cut on Wendy's arm, and sighed with relief. The wound was close to an artery -- if the winged beast had succeeded ... She pointed to the cut on her hip. Giliath discretely examined that as well, and with great gentleness, cleaned the wounds, allowing them to bleed a bit, cleaned them again, and finally spread the salve over them, before he bandaged her arm. But she refused to let him bandage her hip – she would do that herself in a private corner of the cave. During the whole procedure, the girl made no indication of the pain she felt. With a stoic expression, she remained still, allowing the Elf to do his work. As he finished, she sighed. "Thank you, Giliath," she murmured, before she cocked her heard. "How do you say it in your language?"

A pleased expression came into his eyes: "_Diola lle_."

Wendy smiled as she heard the words made of music. She folded her hands over her heart and bowed her upper body as she sat. "_Diola lle_, Giliath Tirnion-i-Agortum!"

He bowed gracefully as well, his silken hair falling forward, now golden-red in the light of the camp-fires. "_Ta naa seasamin, Arwenamin_ – it was my pleasure, Milady!"

John was sitting next to his sister, and now glanced curiously at the small bowl. "What's it made of?"

"Several healing-herbs from my world. I know not if they also thrive here in Neverland, but when the snow has retreated, I will search for them, and show them to you."

The eldest Darling-son nodded eagerly. "Capital idea, Giliath!"

Wendy looked down on her arm, amazed. At first it burned like fire, but now – after only a few moments – the salve started to cool the wound, and the pain grew less and less, until it was almost gone. She suddenly became aware of the rough voices of the pirates from the back of the cave. The men were gathered about around several fires, boasting of their battles against the harpies. Her gazed flicked to the cutlass beside her, and then to the bowl Giliath still held. "Do you need the rest of the salve?"

The Elf lifted one delicate brow. "For the men?"

Wendy started. "How did you know?"

He laughed. "No great mystery. Your thoughts are as easy to read as the  
sunrise."

She rose and took the bowl. "Captain Hook was wounded in his shoulder and upper arm. He must be in great pain. The talons of these beasts were certainly filthy, as well. I want to offer him this salve, before his injuries get worse."

Peter, who had never left her side, frowned. He didn't like it that Wendy was concerned for the pirate. The buccaneer didn't deserve it, in his opinion. "He's used to having problems with his right arm," he commented dryly – and promptly earned an indignant look from his friend.

"Peter! You should be ashamed! After all, he saved my life!"

The eternal boy rolled his eyes. "Again!"

Wendy nodded, ignoring the jealously in his eyes. "Yes, again!" She sighed. "Peter, he is our ally. We need him to defeat this enemy. And if this salve can help him, then I'm the last one to deny him!" She took the bowl from Giliath -- "_Diola lle_," -- picked up the cutlass and moved toward the pirates.

The buccaneers sat close together, drinking rum and talking, but all grew  
quiet when they realized the girl was approaching. Wendy sought out one  
particular face. "Mr. Mason?"

The ugly warted gunner looked up, frowned, and growled when he recognized the sword the girl carried. "I borrowed this from you when I left the cave with my little brother." She offered the weapon to him. "I would have asked your permission, but you were asleep, and I didn't want to disturb you. I think you must have missed it, and I apologize for the trouble I caused. But it did save my life before your captain came, so: Thank you!"

The pirate took his cutlass and looked at her appraisingly before he nodded. "I heard ye killed t'ree of 'em?" The girl nodded and the buccaneer smirked. "Not bad for a lass'! But don't ye dare borry me cutlass again! If ye wouldn't be a gir -- a lass', I would demand satisfaction from ya!"

Wendy knew exactly what he almost called her. She gave a shallow curtsey, convinced that she had earned a little respect of the pirate. "And again: my thanks, Mr. Mason!" Ignoring the other pirates, she wove her way through them, murmuring an "Excuse me, Sir!" here and there, "May I, Sir?" Finally she reached the place where Hook sat on one of the rocks, near a fire. She halted mid-step as he finally came into view. Smee had helped him out of his frock coat, waistcoat and shirt. A leather harness wrapped around his right shoulder and chest, fixed with some sort of contraption to the wooden cuff at the end of his abbreviated arm. The straps hugged his skin, and for the first time, Wendy began to see the effort the captain had to expend every day because of his missing hand.

But that wasn't what made her pause. Never before had she seen the exposed upper body of a full-grown man. She had only seen her father fully clothed, outside his and her mother's bedroom. Even pirates wore shirts or waistcoats. The Indians also wore leather shirts, or were partially covered in furs and Peter … well, Peter wore leaves over most of his chest and back, and he certainly wasn't full-grown. Nothing had prepared her for the sight before her.

Never in her life had she suspected that there was such a … a difference between a boy and a man. The pirate's chest was covered with a mat of dark curls, which must have gone past his waistband. Beneath Peter's darkened skin were soft ripples of muscle, but in this man, large well-defined muscles and tendons caught her gaze. That Hook was so much taller and broader was only now identifiable, but the pirate-captain was certainly not portly. Quite the opposite. In spite of broad shoulders, his waist was slim, as well as his hips. His long curls fell like a dark curtain over his shoulders, contrasting with his pale skin, usually covered in silk and velvet. But the contrast suited him. His left upper arm sported a dark tattoo, somehow familiar to Wendy, and on his right arm was another tattoo she couldn't make out.

Hook wasn't armed (if you didn't count his metal claw) but he seemed more dangerous in this moment than ever before. An ominous threat radiated from him – a peril Wendy could not name, but which almost troubled her more than the attack earlier. The commander raised his eyes and her gaze was captured by the forget-me-not-blue depths. Wendy's mouth went dry, and an odd shiver ran down her spine and froze her where she stood. Only the sight of the blood oozing from his shoulder and dripping from his right arm forced her forward after a second. "Did you want something, me hearty?" His tone was light, belying his pain, but she could see it in his pallor and the dark circles around his eyes.

The sound of his voice broke her paralysis. She cleared her throat, her fingers holding the small bowl trembled slightly. "I … I have a dressing here … for your injuries, Captain."

His gaze flickered to the bowl, and he lifted one brow. "What kind of dressing?" he asked calmly.

"It … uh … it's made of healing-herbs from Giliath's world," Wendy explained uncertainly. "It cures, prevents infection and soothes pain."

Hook frowned, and Smee gave her a look of distaste. "Just let me take care of ye, Cap'n! I'll fix ye up – wit'out some witchery!" he scoffed, and bent down to pick up a flask of rum.

Wendy pursed her lips and stepped nearer, clearly offended. "But the rum burns awfully! You don't need more pain. This treatment soothes every hurt!"

Smee took a deep breath. "Listen, mop-head, I been fixin' t'e Cap'n for a long time now, and 'e don't need no more t'an good rum and a bandage. 'E ain't one of them li'le boys you know from your world, an' --"

"But why force him to suffer?" the girl interrupted, her eyes beginning to flash with impatience. She pointed at the bottle of rum. "That's just … just barbaric!"

Hook watched the little drama with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. Finally, he lifted his left hand and halted the quarrel beginning to gather steam between his bo'sun and the little miss crankiness in front of him. "I suspect you well know what to do in such cases. Pan and his little friends get knocked about all time."

The girl nodded, sticking out her chin, as the Irishman snorted. She would not back down because of Mr. Smee's ancient point of view. Hook had helped her – twice now! – and she intended to repay him. Besides, she was still a girl, and quite tenderhearted, and she couldn't stand to see anything in pain.

Hook pursed his lips. Smee's treatment was anything but pleasant, and if the girl had a better method, then he would be the last to refuse her offer. He knew she intended no harm – she was far too fascinated with him. He had seen and recognized her reaction moments ago. He might be a black-hearted villain, but he was also a man of some experience. He knew she was attracted to him, and even if she was only a slip of a girl, his ego had been sustained. Yes, it was good to know that the girl could not only charm him, but that he could charm her as well. Taking a deep breath, he motioned for her to come nearer. "Then come and see, my hearty."

"But don't faint," his bo'sun grumbled mockingly. "It ain't a pretty sight!"

Ignoring the Irishman, Wendy carefully placed the bowl beside Hook's feet and stepped around behind him. She found two deep puncture wounds on his upper arm, while another seemed to be under the harness, pierced by the harpy's talons. And then she saw his back and slapped one hand over her mouth to block a cry of sympathy. "Oh my!" she finally whispered and shot Smee a glare. "And you say he only needs rum and a bandage?"

Smee started to retort something, but Wendy didn't listen. Four wounds, similar to those on his upper arm, decorated his shoulder-blade and lower back, but that wasn't all. As the beast had yanked out its claw from his shoulder to grip his hair, forcing him to expose his throat, it had ripped small pieces of his flesh and skin. His whole back was covered in blood. Wendy felt tears springing to her eyes. This man must be in agony. She swallowed and collected herself. He needed her help, not her tears. "Mr. Smee? I need warm water, clean cloths and clean bandages." The little man silently pointed at a little heap of material beside Hook, and Wendy's eyes shot darts at him. "You want to fix him with THAT?" she gasped. "You might as well shoot him here and now. It would be more merciful than letting him suffer the gangrene!"

Smee gaped at her and shoved his fists where, in earlier times, his waist used to be. "Just listen t' me, ya little --"

"Quiet, Smee!" Hook's command came softly, but Smee knew enough not to disobey when he used this tone. "I think Pan's Elf friends have everything our pretty Jill needs. Go get it – with our kindest regards and compliments to their commander and Pan's protector!"

For a long moment, the bo'sun and the girl glared at each other, in a sort of silent duel, then the Irishman turned away with a forced "Aye, Sir!" and vanished into the dim light of the cave.

Wendy glanced down at the captain. She didn't need ask him how he was, so she bent over him, and felt for the buckle of the harness. "I'll be as careful as possible," she said softly, and Hook nodded.

"Wait!" he murmured and opened the harness himself. The fastening would have been too stiff for her. Then she pulled the leather contraption from his left shoulder, and peeled it as gently as possible from his right shoulder. But as she tried to remove the last of it, his large, warm hand covered hers and stopped her, while his touch send an odd feeling through her.

"No!" His tone was firm, but not harsh. "Just leave it!"

Wendy glanced down -- the wooden cuff was still in place, and she now understood that he didn't want to expose the old wound. If he was embarrassed because of her possible reaction, or if he simply didn't want to expose that weakness on general principle, she didn't know; but she respected his wish. "In that case, please hold this for me," she whispered, and he complied. For an instant, she thought she saw relief on his face. So, he hid the old injury in general. She thought she knew why, but she was sensible enough not to pursue it.

Smee returned with a pot of warm water and a bundle. He offered Wendy the pot also containing a white cloth, and sat down on a nearby outcrop, unpacking what Giliath had given him. With great care, Wendy started to clean the man's injuries. She felt him tense, but he made no sound nor move to stop her. It was only when she cleaned the worst wound under his shoulder that he hissed quietly. "Sorry," she murmured.

"'S'alright," he grumbled, not moving.

Finally, as Wendy had to continue at his back, she hesitated. His hair hung where she needed to work, but his hand was occupied with the harness, so she couldn't ask him to move it himself. Feeling odd in her stomach, she set down the pot and reached for the mess of curls herself.

A strange shyness overcame her, and she drew back. Swallowing again, she stretched her trembling fingers toward his mane. She didn't know why she was almost afraid to touch this hair, but something in her was sounding a sharp warning. She heard Smee clearing his throat and glanced at him. She saw the amused expression on his face, but his look was also challenging.

Gathering all her courage, and scolding herself for being so silly, she took a handful of the captain's curls.

She didn't know what she expected, but it wasn't this – not these soft, dark strands like ropes of silk in her hands. Some of them instantly curled around her fingers – something that felt shockingly intimate, but also completely alien. Wendy felt her cheeks burn. With a mixture of astonishment and fascination, she stared at the human silk in her hands. She hadn't the slightest notion why, but the sight of her hand holding his hair felt … indecent.

Then she heard Smee chuckling, and, ignoring the riot of new feelings in her belly, determinedly pulled the hair over Hook's left shoulder.

"What's the matter, beauty?" his dark voice purred and new blood shot into her face.

"N … nothing," she stammered, "I mean, you'll be fine shortly," and she heard him chuckle, while she set to work on his back. She pressed her lips together and frowned, concentrating furiously on the job at hand.

Hook grinned, despite the pain. Of course he knew the reason for her hesitation, why Wendy was suddenly so nervous. She was still a child, but nearing the threshold of adulthood. The time she spent in London, she'd made a huge step in this direction, as her hesitations and flushed face proved. She wasn't conscious of these changes, but the pirate-captain knew that it wouldn't be long until the woman lurking inside that childish bosom and inside the innocence would awaken.

A sharp twinge interrupted his pondering. An "Ouch!" escaped him, and Wendy peeked sheepishly over his shoulder. "Sorry, Captain, but it will only hurt at first!" She met his glare, until it transformed into one of relief. The salve was working. "Better?" she asked hopefully, and Hook gave her a short nod.

"Yes. Go on!"

Wendy worked quickly and carefully. She knew she hurt him every time she stroked the salve into a wound, but she took courage in the knowledge that it soon changed into cool relief. After what seemed an eternity (but was only a few minutes) she was finished, and critically observed her work. "I guess you'll live, Captain!" she said.

He snorted in reply. "It would seem so, in spite of your manhandling." He hadn't underestimated her. He couldn't remember when someone had treated him as gently as she had. He really felt better, relaxed, and that because if her soft, helping hands.

Smee had watched Hook very closely. He knew from experiences that Hook's eyes turned almost black when he was in great pain. But this time his eyes had changed soon back to their normal deep blue, and even the ash color had started to leave his face. Whatever witchery this salve was, in truth, it seemed to help. And besides that, the attendance of the girl seemed to be pleasant and welcome to his commander.

"All right," Wendy murmured. "Smee can bandage you up, then you can sleep."

Smee stood, holding the white strips toward her, and she stared at him, puzzled. The Irishman drawled, "Y' started this, now finish it!" He glanced at his commander, who nodded slowly.

"But … you always do it!" Wendy protested, and the boatswain shrugged.

"Ye wanted t'e job!"

Hook swiveled his head to look back at her seeing her flushed face.

"Is there a problem with that, little one?"

Several muffled sniggers came from the direction of the other buccaneers, and Wendy straightened. Like all of us, she hated it when someone laughed at her. Eyes flashing, she snatched the bandage out of Smee's hand, wondering why this whole episode was so amusing to the other men. "Hold still, please!" she commanded from behind the captain, and was immediately presented with the logistical problem of how she would wrap it around the man. She would NOT embrace him from behind, and she pictured herself running around the rock to wind it about his body.

"Come now, child, tell me what the matter is."

She could hear the hidden laughter in his voice, and the first snorts from his crew. Taking a deep breath she answered firmly: "You're too broad, Captain!" The men laughed aloud now.

He twisted around to face her; his dark curls falling over his shoulder down his muscular chest. "Too broad?" he gaped. "I always saw myself as slender, especially compared to Smee."

Wendy blushed crimson. "Indeed … uh … you are," she hastened to answer. "But still … I … you … you know?" She held out her arms, indicating her conundrum.

Recognizing her pleading look, he took mercy on her, even though he thoroughly enjoyed her discomfiture. "Let me help you." He lifted his right arm, took the bandage and wrapped it around his chest, before he gave it back to her on the left. In this way, the bandage was fixed shortly, followed by another around his upper right arm.

"Finished," Wendy said quietly meeting his eyes.

"Shame!" he murmured, and watched her turn pink again.

Wendy bit her full lower lip as she met his eyes. She realized that his cheeks were warm as well, but for another reason than the campfire. As she had bandaged him she'd felt his temperature rising, and daring, she laid one hand on his arm. She found that his skin was quite smooth, she felt the heat, and knew what was happening. "You have a fever," she whispered and the pirate shrugged.

"That is to be expected. Perhaps your Elvish friends have a remedy for that as well?"

"I … I will ask them," she smiled shyly.

"Everything alright here?" a familiar boyish voice sounded from behind her.

Hook turned around in alert – a reflex that had been his life for a long time now. Peter Pan stood behind him, arms akimbo, head cocked – a gesture so familiar that it calmed and infuriated the pirate simultaneously.

Peter looked over his foe and his friend. He didn't like her being that close to the buccaneer. Warily he saw relief come over Wendy's face, before she moved quickly to his side, almost behind him. Peter's eyes narrowed – she still looked for his protection. He assessed the man in front of him, who looked surprised and then annoyed at the girl, before he answered Peter's question.

"Much better now – after the gentle care of our beauty."

Peter felt prickling at the words 'gentle care' and 'our beauty', but decided to ignore it. Hook was playing one of his grownup games; that was all. "Glad to hear it," he retorted, and turned to leave, but Hook's next sentence stopped him.

"Thanks for asking, Pan. I never would have suspected that you could be so … polite."

The boy took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on Hook again. Two could play this game! "Of course you wouldn't. After all, you're just a big old ugly pirate, while I've been educated at the court of a queen."

"A queen?" Hook guffawed. "It must have been the queen of monkeys!"

Anger boiled up in Peter. "Don't paint me with YOUR brush, Hook! In Kensington Gardens, true queens rule– human and fairies! The monkeys are those who dress up in big, fancy clothes just to get people's attention!"

"Such flattery, Pan! Where did you find those words? They couldn't possibly come from your tiny brain!" Hook scoffed. He rose easily and closed the distance to the children, looming darkly above Peter, who glanced in cold wrath at him. "Or could it be that you're simply spreading your tail feathers to impress the lady beside you, a lady who is no lady but a red-handed thief?"

The atmosphere was suddenly tense. Bewildered and alarmed, Wendy watched the two opponents. What in the name of Heaven was happening? She could hear the whispers of the other pirates, and knew that the crew watched and listened carefully. It was a new experience for them, seeing their captain and his young enemy fighting with words, and not swords.

Peter glared mockingly and pointed at the hat that lay on top of his folded clothing. "Feathers are your inclination, Hook, since there's nothing else about you to attract attention!"

Hook lifted a brow; his blue eyes glistening in the dim light. "You think so, boy? Then tell me, why does she blush in my presence, and not in yours!"

Wendy gasped at the man's effrontery, and opened her mouth to respond, but Peter was up to the challenge.

Proudly the eternal boy straightened his small shoulders. "Easy -- you embarrassed her! Something I'd expect from a pirate, since they know nothing of decent behavior – unlike me!"

Cynical laughter escaped the buccaneer. "You? Decent behavior? Since when!"

"How could you recognize decent behavior, when you've nothing to compare it to? Otherwise you would have spared Wendy that embarrassment." Peter didn't understand why, but the sight of her standing with flushed face so near to the captain had awoken something in him he wasn't used to: the hint of jealously.

Hook's eyes narrowed to small slits. "Pan, we have a deal that prevents me from gutting you here and now. But it will not prevent me from punishing you as I did the other morning. And then we'll see who has the greater shame: Miss Darling, because she acts like a completely normal female, or you – the leader of the Lost Boys and the so-called Prince of Neverland behaving like a spoiled brat!"

Peter shot him a nasty grin. "How do you plan to do it? With that?" He pointed at the loose cuff dangling on the buccaneer's arm. With a snarl, Hook lifted his hand to slap Peter's impudent face, and Peter ducked quickly. The next moment Wendy was between them.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it! Both of you!" Her eyes flashed, while she propped her hands at her waist, looking very much like Aunt Millicent at that moment. "I don't know what has gotten into you two, but you're acting worse than Michael at four when he refused to leave the sandbox!" Hook and Peter stared at her, and even the other pirates gaped with open mouths and wide eyes. By the Devils of the Seven Seas, but the girl really had nerve to scold their captain this way! No one EVER got in his way when he was fighting with the boy! Wendy shook her head. "You both are so viciously proud of being the man and the boy, but you act far too much alike for me to see any difference in you!"

"But he has you--"

"This blasted brat has insul--"

Both started in the same tone, but Wendy made impatient a sign to cut them off. "Not one more word!" Firmly she looked in the astonished face of James Hook and pointed toward the beds the pirates had made up. "You should rest before your fever gets worse. I'll ask Giliath for something to bring it down, if he's still willing to help you. But you have to do your part as well, Captain, so get some sleep! And you," she turned toward a frowning Peter, "you do the same. How do you expect to confront S-Hadh if you're completely exhausted?"

He swallowed his anger, definitely not accustomed to hearing Wendy scold him. "But I only wanted to—"

"To protect my honor, I know. Peter, nothing happened. After all, it's only Captain Hook!"

The pirate's mouth fell open. 'Only Captain Hook?' What did that mean? And how dare she treat him like a little boy? It had been an eternity since anyone had spoken to him such as she had done ...

Wendy met his petulant gaze, and sighed. "But Peter is right. You placed me in a very compromising position when I had to wrap you up. But, after all, you're only a pirate, so I forgive you!"

"You … _forgive_ me?" he asked incredulously, nearly choking on the words. 'Only a pirate?'

The girl gave him one of her glowing smiles and nodded. "Yes. And thank you again for your help outside." She cocked her head and continued softly: "I hope your injuries will not bother you too much during the rest of the night. Sleep well." Still too confounded to react, he simply nodded and watched her take the boy's hand. "Are you coming, Peter?"

Peter sighed and looked reluctantly at his nemesis. "Good night, and … and thank you for saving her – again!" His voice sounded sincere this time, without any mockery or anger.

Hook was turning away and answered without thinking, "You're welcome." Bewildered he turned back, watching the two children as they made their way hand-in-hand back to their friends. Then his head cleared and he snorted. Had that puny sorceress really scolded him and ordered him to bed? And he had let her do it! And he was … amused by it, as the rising chuckle in his belly told him. Why wasn't he angry? He should show her exactly what it meant to speak to James Hook like that!

"Smee?" he said, shaking his head at his own confusion, stifling a yawn. "Get me that Elf – Giliath! I am desperately in need of something to fight off this fever. It seems I am unable to think straight at the moment – otherwise I would have had the wench over my knee!"

Biting his cheeks to hide his laughter, Smee again approached the Elves. He knew Hook well enough to realize that the pretty little lass had somehow maneuvered herself behind his captain's stony resolve, and reached a part of him only the Irishman knew about. And he was curious as to how far the girl could push before she reached the point of waking Hook's anger again. But -- he doubted that his captain would harm her. He was far too entangled in her innocent charms. Smee understood this. After all, he had been young himself a long time ago, and even if Hook wasn't exactly a youth anymore, he was still a man in his best years, and very lonely. He seemed to appreciate the wit and intelligence of the girl, as well as her bravery and comeliness – things which also impressed the bo'sun. Smee was convinced that the whole affair between his commander and this other 'victim of his vengeance' was far from over, and would yet bring about other entertaining situations. And he didn't want to think of how it could turn out if she were not a child, but a young woman.

------------------------

Wendy lay on her make-shift bed and swallowed a groan, as she was suddenly reminded of the damage done to her hip. She had forgotten to bandage it, and now she was too tired to look for a secluded spot and take care of it. Sighing, she lay on her other side, and watched Peter stretching himself beside her.

"Is everything really alright?" he whispered, and the girl nodded. "Yes, he was simply playing one of his wicked pirate-games. I think it was a diversion he used, to help him forget how much he was hurting." She sighed and turned toward Peter, giving him a soft smile. She saw the lingering anger in his eyes, and gently touched his arm. "Let it go."

He sighed and nodded, his eyes fixed on hers. "I don't like it when he gets so close to you."

"He wouldn't harm me – not at the moment, anyway."

Peter frowned. "I know. And that's what made me nervous." In the next moment, he blushed and quickly turned to face the other way.

But Wendy had seen it, and suddenly she realized the reason for her friend's odd behavior moments ago: Peter was jealous.

And as it dawned on her what that meant, her heart leaped. She knew that Peter had feelings for her, but open jealously proved that these feelings were stronger than either of them thought.

With a happy smile, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to claim her.

TBC…


	17. A Dangerous Journey

Dear readers, 

I hope you don't kill me, but I'll go a holiday for 2 weeks. I don't know if I'll manage to public the next chapter next week before I am up to Austria for a vacation, just have a look onto the ffn; I promise I'll try it. But I'll be certainly back a the 2nd May.

Thank you so very much for all the nice reviews; I am happy that you love the story so much. In this chapter new action (in a way) is up, and there will come new thrilling, sweet and droll scenes within the next ones.

I whish you all 'Happy Eastern' and I would be glad to receive further reviews.

Love you all,

Lywhn

**Chapter 16 – A Dangerous Journey**

The rest of the night was blessedly uneventful. Four Elves kept watch at the cave opening while the others stretched out by the fires and tried to find sleep, which turned out to be difficult for some of them.

Especially the children. Too much had happened. There was much sniggering and joking between the boys as they recounted their own braveries to one another. Wendy lay gazing into the darkness above her; trying to ignore the twinges from her arm and hip, her thoughts circling again and again around the attack of the harpies, and the murmurs of the sleeping boy at her side. When sleep finally came, her dreams were filled with black winged creatures and white hag faces, shrill laughter and sharp claws. She was cold and frightened. But then a dark tall shape with a dark red frock coat appeared with lifted sword and raised hook, spinning between the terrifying creatures, and then looking at her with calm blue eyes.

When Giliath woke her at daybreak, she was groggy as though she hadn't slept at all.

Peter looked much the same. He was pale and his eyes were shadowed. He hadn't slept much, and what sleep he had was full of nightmares. Not as nasty as before, but bad enough to make him wish to stay awake, which he had done in the end, finding no peace in sleep. Over and over again, it came to him what might have happened if he'd lost Wendy. He remembered the circumstances that first woke him -- there had been that eerie dream again, the dream of a giant harpy -- and this time he understood what she had said: "She is ours!" The beast had meant _Wendy_; he was certain of it. And even if his dream wasn't a kind of omen, he had felt something was wrong with her. Somehow … somehow he knew that she was in danger. Somehow he knew that she needed him – or needed someone else who would help her. He didn't know why this had happened, but it didn't matter. He had felt her terror, had even dreamt it - and that made him curious.

He had never known anything like this. Yes, the Lost Boys all had their place in his heart – in a way – but with Wendy it was different. Her need for his help had reached him over the distance, exactly as he had felt it five days ago, when he flew to London. And then there were those strange _feelings_ that made him so uncomfortable. He couldn't remember anyone who made his stomach churn so, or made his heart tumble around in his chest, this terrible fear of losing her and this absurd relief to find her almost safe and well. Those feelings made him want to gather her in his arms and hold her. Why, he even wanted to -- to thimble her!

All these unfamiliar impulses made him anxious. But he hadn't found the strength to fight them, and still he knew he wanted her close. What was happening to him? Each of the boys was valuable to him, but with Wendy it was so different – something that had come alive in the eternal boy, and made him yearn for … more.

And then there was this last incident with Hook and Wendy. Peter knew that Wendy was grateful that the pirate had saved her, knew that it was always in her heart to help. She was far too good-hearted to just stand by idly when someone was in pain. But still, there was _something_ between her and the captain, something Peter couldn't put his finger on, and that made him uncertain.

He didn't know much about this feeling-stuff, but he knew that he had to find out what was going on with him, Wendy and Hook. Whom could he ask about it? Usually he could seek out Great Panther. But the Indian shaman was far away, and he wouldn't be able to fly to him. Asking Tinker Bell was out of question. Even if his fairy-friend had come to accept Wendy, he knew that she was still jealous of her. Maybe he could ask John? But was it wise to talk to Wendy's brother about his feelings for her?

His searching eyes fell on Giliath, who was packing his belongings. Yes! _He_ was a grownup. Normally Peter loathed grownups, but he was also an Elf and his friend. And a male. And, what mattered most, he was old, but still young in heart and spirit. Yes, Giliath would know what was happening and could answer his questions. Peter decided to ask him at the next chance he got and --

"Sleep well?"

Wendy's voice broke into his thoughts and he turned toward her. Making a face, he shrugged. "Not really. The night was just too short." He sighed. "How about you?"

The girl glanced at her arm. "It stings a bit, but otherwise it feels good – arm and hip."

Giliath had come over to them, and crouched down. "That's good to know. I think two more days and they'll be completely healed." Wendy gave him a grateful smile, and he winked at her before turning to Peter. "We should seek out a new shelter. S'Hadh will have determined where we are by now, and we should avoid any more uninvited visitors from him."

The boy nodded. "Good idea." He sighed. "And I wish I knew where Tink is."

Nibs, rolling his blanket, glanced up at him. "You mean the harpies might have--?"

His leader shook his head. "No. Fairies are too quick and too careful to get captured by big old clumsy crows." He rubbed his red gritty eyes and yawned. "But we don't have much time. S'Hadh's power is growing, and we don't want him getting too strong. We already had enough trouble fighting off his creatures."

"And we can't leave before your puny little pest is back, otherwise she won't know where to find us," the familiar elegant drawl sounded behind him.

Peter made a face. "Good morning, Hook," he moaned without looking at the pirate.

"The same to you, Pan!" the man answered with mock politeness.

"How are your injuries, Captain?" Wendy asked, tying up her boots. She met his gaze as he glanced down on her; his expression unreadable.

"Your leech craft was more successful than I would have given you credit for," he said loftily. "Thank you, little one."

Wendy sighed. "Why do you call me 'little one' all the time?"

A smirk came over the pirate's morning face. "Because it fits you – and I thought you loathed 'girly', for that would fit, too." _And it reminds me where I stand …_ came the unbidden thought.

The girl shot him a glare and murmured something about "don't you dare" and "typical pirate cheek." Hook grinned as he heard Wendy murmuring under her breath. She really was a madcap – and he adored it.

The girl looked at Peter. "What I really need is time to mend our clothes and to try and clean them up a bit. I'm told there are wild animals on this island, and I think they would smell the harpies' blood on us."

Peter propped his fists on his hips and chuckled. "Not a bad idea at all. You look like a--"

"Don't say it!" Wendy cut in. "You don't look everso tidy yourself!"

The eternal boy shrugged. "I never look tidy!"

The pirate, who was still standing over them, grinned. "A definite understatement!" Peter showed him a grimace, what the pirate ignored. Hook pointed at the girl's clothes. "If you allow me to express my humble opinion, little one, I don't think that gown is worth patching. It looks quite … umm … irrecoverable."

Wendy glanced down on herself -- the nightgown really was in terrible condition, cut, torn and covered with spots of dried blood -- and sighed. "That's true, but I've nothing else to wear at the moment, except the Indian dress. And the leather is most uncomfortable next to bare skin." She made a face. "And I have a little sewing kit with me, but it wouldn't be enough for this job."

Peter scoffed, "Then just wear it the way it is. It doesn't bother me."

Surprised, Wendy stared at him. "Peter! First, I am a lady and not a barbarian, and second: It matters not if it bothers _you_. It bothers _me_, and that should be enough reason for _you_ to care about it!"

Giliath smiled. "Nahil has appurtenances for our domestic needs. I am certain that he has enough thread with him."

Though Wendy had heard the word used, she wasn't sure what "appurtenances" meant. However, she needed a graceful exit, so she turned to him, beaming. "Oh, yes! Could I talk to him?" The Elf nodded and offered her his hand, helping her up. "Thank you," she said, and shot Peter a glare. "You see? This is a gentleman who understands a young lady's requirements!" With an insolent toss of her long hair, back straight and head high, she took the Elf's arm and accompanied him to his comrades.

Bewildered, the boy watched the unequal pair: one small, one tall; one in a sort of dress, one in leggings, doublet and shirt; one with walnut-brown hair, one with nearly white hair. One clean, one filthy.

Hook watched them with a strange look on his face. "Did she just say she doesn't have a thing to wear?"

Peter watched her charm the supplies she needed from Nahil. "No," he replied glumly, completely baffled. "She just said she couldn't go to war because she didn't have a thing to wear." Hook barely held in the bark of laughter. Peter shook his head. "Girls! Has anyone ever understood them?"

Unaware, Hook's expression had become an exact mirror of Peter's "That's why I never get involved with 'em," Hook groused, watching Wendy and Giliath, absorbed by the girl's deft use of her "feminine charms" that contrasted so vividly with her temper. And her clothing.

Peter looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

Hook shifted his gaze from the girl to his young nemesis. "I'll give you some advice, m'boy: Never trust a female older than the age of three, and _never_ ever try to understand her. She'll just drive you insane!"

Peter looked at him wryly. "I thought you liked challenges."

The man nodded. "Yes, but I would be a fool to accept a challenge and to start a fight I know I will lose anyway. Believe me, Pan, with a woman, you'll always end up holding a pair of deuces."

The boy scratched his head and sighed. "I think I know what you mean."

"Eh?"

"When she gets angry, or scolds me, I can argue as much as I want, but--" He stopped suddenly as he realized that he was about to entrust _Hook_ with a very private confession.

The tall buccaneer started to laugh. "Let me guess: She always gets the last word."

The leader of the Lost Boys nodded, almost contritely, and Hook threw his head back, guffawing at the knowledge that this boy shared the same frustrations. He didn't even realize that he had, once again, shared a private joke with his most loathed enemy.

Behind him Thalion and one of his fellow warriors exchanged a satisfied glance. Yes, Neverland really had a chance!

------------------------------

It was later in the morning. All three groups were ready to leave the cave, but still Tink hadn't returned, which increasingly concerned Peter. After the rare moment of understanding between the boy and the man, it vanished as soon as they tried to decide where to find shelter for the next night and where they should have their headquarters, from which they could begin the campaign.

Hook thought it wise to return to the Black Castle, where mighty walls were excellent protection not only against the bitter cold but against their dark foes as well. Peter wanted to explore deeper into the mountains and once there, to find another cave, putting them much closer to the enemy. "After all, we ought to fight him sooner rather than later."

The whole discussion progressed like anyone might expect who knew the thick-headed enemies: They nearly came to blows. As Hook shouted that Peter was nothing more than a foolish, blind, pretentious brat with a sparrow-sized brain, the boy yelled back that Hook's age was getting the better of him, that he was now senile, unable to lead a ship, and should begin a search for a warm blanket and a rocking chair.

Just as the others were about to step between them and they both reached for weapons, the cave was lit by fairy-light and Tinker Bell shot between the two opponents, followed by several of her winged friends. Impatiently, she yanked at Peter's hair, since he didn't immediately give her his attention, and Smee tentatively put his hand on Hook's arm. As soon as Peter looked at her, she started to jingle loudly, joined by some other fairies who interrupted her over and over again. A couple of the boys covered their ears, and the pirates started to chuckle at the sight. The eternal boy did know the language very well, but this was too much even for him. "Slow down … not so quick … One at a time! … What do you … I CAN'T UNDERSTAND A SINGLE WORD!"

For a second everything went silent, then Tink waved at her friends to let her do the talking, and began her report again. In two minutes she was finished, and looked full of expectation at the boy, who had grown pale.

"May I ask Master Pan for a translation?" Hook growled, still bristling over Peter's latest insult. Dammit, he was not that old – if he remembered correctly, he was somewhere in his thirties or maybe at the end of them, but definitely not senile nor ready for a comforter in a rocking chair! Who did this insolent brat think he was to insult him like this? Oh, as soon as this situation was resolved, he would make him pay! For this and for all the insults that came before!Then he saw, that Peter had bowed his shoulders – and he grew alarmed. If Peter Pan was disheartened, then this situation must be worse than they thought!

"Tink and her friends searched the whole afternoon, evening and night, and haven't found a single fissure to slip through. S'Hadh's servants are everywhere, even the cave where the crocodile lived is now home to three trolls."

"Are yer fluttering friends are certain o' t'is?" Smee asked, who stood beside his commander cleaning his cockeyed glasses.

Peter nodded, downcast. "They tried everything. Four of them were almost caught." He glanced up at Tink. "How are they? Are they well?" As the fairy nodded, the boy took a deep breath. "At least something went right."

"What now, Peter?" Nibs asked. "Looks like we need a new strategy."

"Is there another way in there?" Tootles added, while he chewed on his third slice of bread.

Tink chimed again firmly, and glanced straight at Peter, who frowned. "You mean--?" The fairy nodded and with a thoughtful expression the boy turned toward Hook. "The catacombs under the Black Castle … where do they lead?"

Hook shrugged, then grimaced as pain reminded him of his reduced capacity. Brimstone and gall, that hurt! What was on those miserable claws? "They are partly artificial, partly natural. They have only one opening from the seaside, and one from the inner castle – as you know. Why?"

Oh yes, Peter remembered quite well what Hook meant. It had been on Marooner's Rock in the catacombs of the Black Castle when the buccaneer almost finished him off. Sometimes Hook noticed the curved scar his iron claw had left on the boy's chest, and Peter didn't like to think about it all. But just right now, the catacombs seemed to be their only hope. "Behind the stone dragon, above the water's edge, is a small opening."

The pirate-captain thought a moment. "I've never noticed it. What are you telling us?"

"Two of the fairies explored the catacombs and one of them met Tink just before she came here. The opening leads to a small passage that looks very natural. Maybe--"

"-- maybe it leads to the Mount of No Return?" the buccaneer finished the sentence. Lost in thought, he scratched his stubbly chin while the others tossed ideas around. "Possible," Hook finally said. "Neverland's genesis is volcanic. Such islands are always honeycombed with labyrinths, even below the water's surface. There is a chance that that passage might be volcanic as well."

Peter nodded and met the curious glances of his friends and the Elves. "The second fairy is still at the Black Castle and following the passage to see where it leads. Tink says that her friend will need a few more hours until she can meet us."

Giliath took a deep breath. "Until that hour, we must find another shelter. Something dark approaches. I can feel it."

Hook nodded, still seething about the insult, "The sooner the better." He shot a triumphal glare at Peter. "With that our 'discussion' about our new headquarters has found its end. To the Black Castle! This round is mine, boy!"

Peter looked at him disdainfully. "Only by accident. A minute ago your rank old ruin was completely out of question!"

"First, Pan, the castle is not a complete ruin, and my quarters are not rank! Not acknowledging my victory on this point simply reveals that you lack any vestige of Good Form!"

Peter threw his hands up and mocked. "Oh happy day, Hooky has won a battle of words! I thought that would lift your mood to an agreeable level?"

"My mood is more than agreeable, boy, otherwise you would find yourself in the same predicament as yesterday morning. And, by the way, the Castle was and is the only logical choice. No one can get in who isn't wanted there--"

"So I've noticed," the boy sneered, and grinned.

"-- and second," Hook continued with clenched teeth, "we can hole up there if necessary. No one can take the castle." His eyes glinted. "I have practical experience with such matters."

Wendy swallowed. She was hearing Hook the pirate talking now. As he had aided her, and she had bandaged him, he was only a man – an ally, who had comforted her and had revealed an unguessed facet of himself. But now she was reminded that he was, after all, a violent criminal who plundered, fought and killed. If he said that a castle was safe from outside attacks, then she believed him.

"Captain Hook is right," Thalion offered. "The castle has sealed walls, gates, doors, better protection than a simple cave. And if there really is a passage into the mountains, then the castle is the only sound choice."

Hook shot Peter a glare that said 'Told you so!' and the boy stuck his tongue out at him. The buccaneer's eyes narrowed. "Don't overdo it, Pan!"

"And what would you do about it? You need me to save your sorry stack of planks!"

"And you need me to save this God forsaken rock in the sea you call a home!"

"Would both of you just STOP!" Wendy interrupted, clearly annoyed. Two wide blue pairs of eyes glared at her. "Really, is it that difficult to talk civilly to each other, without the insults of a three-year-old?" She glanced from one to another, who still snarled at each other, and spread her hands upward toward them. "What's the matter? Have I demanded all the rivers of Neverland to flow backwards?" To her astonishment, Tink suddenly stood beside her face in the air, arms folded and nodding firmly.

"What?" Peter stared at his fairy-friend. "You and Wendy feel the same way?"

Tinker Bell and the girl nodded, and a low snarl escaped the pirate's throat. "That's exactly what I told you earlier, Pan. Females always stick together when it has to do with males."

"As well as males sticking together when it has to do with females," Wendy retorted dryly, looking at the pair, and Tink nodded again.

Giliath's eyes twinkled, and he shook his head before he grew serious again. "We should leave as soon as possible. Whatever it is, whatever is approaching, it travels quickly."

Each giving the other one last glare, Peter and Hook parted. Tink jingled something and her friend smiled: "Of course, you can return to the castle to meet your friend. That way she won't have to fly the whole way here."

Tink twirled with happiness. Aurora, the rose-fairy who was spying for them at the castle, was one of her best friends, and of course she wanted her to avoid the dangerous journey. Suddenly she lifted her index-finger and shook it warningly.

"Yes, I'll be careful," Peter sighed, then gave her a sharp look, "for now!"

Shooting him another stern glance, Tink waved toward the other fairies, circled the Elves and shot out of the cave again. She was really looking forward to being warm again, and even if it was that dark, old ruin.

-------------------------------

It wasn't far to the castle, but a journey always seems much too long when you are in haste. Peter would have needed no more than a few minutes to fly to the ruin, but being forced to walk (again), and stomping through the deep snow took the allies nearly the entire day.

And a difficult day it was, what with all the walking and the snow and little time to stop and eat (especially for Tootles). There would have been a lot more grumbling if Wendy hadn't kept the boys (and the grownups) entertained with quiet riddles and stories. Even the Elves listened to her story, appreciating her fantasy and her way of thrilling telling. They kept their voices low, and had to find cover over and over again. The scanty light of day was dimming as they neared the sea. They had used the same path that Hook and his men had come the day before, which was less dangerous than climbing along the foot of the mountains where there would be no cover. Beneath the treetops, they would be hard to spot from the sky, and the Elves did their best to hide their tracks.

The sky showed itself the whole day in a dingy grey, and it was only light enough so the group was able to avoid the trees. Snow fell over and over again, and the wind started to pick up as the afternoon progressed. It moaned through the branches and howled in the niches and rock spurs of the mountains. Occasionally they heard the screeches of harpies. The feathered creatures that had survived the night before were obviously searching for them. More than once they all had to hide, as the shrill screams passed above the trees overhead. Another time, they watched a troop of ugly half-tall goblins and Duergars, black dwarves, passing by.

Even as the pirates and boys itched to attack the intruders, Thalion forbade such a foolish move – and Hook was of the same opinion. It would have been insanity to give their position away, betraying them to the enemy. Their only chance seemed to be to invade S'Hadh's domain before he was prepared. They needed to conceal their intentions as long as possible and to reach the next shelter without his knowledge of its whereabouts.

Hook wasn't at all reassured by the Elves' efforts to hide their passage, and learned that his men felt the same way when he overheard Mason and Cecco whispering to each other about 'eyes in the air and the trees'.

In the late afternoon, mist started to rise from the snow, and the twilight grew hazy between the trunks of the trees. Suddenly the Elves began to hurry them forward. Soon they would be clear of the forest and would make for the rocky cliffs of the eastern island, where the Black Castle rose at their base. "Why the hurry?" Hook growled softly. His mood had sunk to a new low during the last hours. He was tired and cold, and his wounds were hurting again.

"This mist is not of Neverland," Giliath explained quickly, eyeing the surrounding terrain. Seeing an Elf nervous was even less reassuring to the pirate. "It is the vanguard of the Alrinachs, and should they found us, we all can – how do you humans say it? – write your will."

"Alrinachs?" Mullins queried the unfamiliar word, and Giliath nodded.

"They're a sort of wind or mist ghost."

"Mist _Ghost_?" the ship's carpenter gasped, paling. "I don't wanna have anyt'ing to do wit' ghosts. I allus went sick when me mum 'ad 'er séances and--"

"Shut up, you superstitious, gullible, credulous jackass!" his captain hissed, and several of the boys near him started and several others told him "SSHH!"

"I don't want to hear anymore talk about ghosts!" he continued with lowered voice. "Let them come and learn how James Hook handles them!"

Peter, who had been carrying a completely exhausted Michael on his back for a good while now, tramped passed him, sneering: "By all means, I can see it all now: A ghost shivering and rattling his chains in fright, and a covey of pirates with chattering teeth and calling for their mothers to help them – neither group knowing who should be more afraid. Now that's funny!"

"And between them a boy on a hook, who is just about to become a ghost himself!" Hook shot back – and paused in his round of insults, staring at his young nemesis. "What's the matter with you, Pan?"

Peter stopped long enough to look back at him, "What do you mean?" he asked wearily.

The pirate-captain closed the distance to him and observed him critically. Peter was almost as white as the snow, with dark circles under his eyes. His lips were bloodless and he seemed to have trouble standing without wobbling. He didn't look any healthier than two evenings before, when Hook had found him dying in the forest.

He remembered Giliath's words, that S'Hadh was weakening the boy by robbing him of his strength. How Pan had managed to walk that far with an additional child on his back was beyond the man's ken. With a chopping motion, Hook addressed the youngest Darling-son. "Get off him, you little monkey!" he ordered with sharp voice. "You've rested enough!"

Startled Michael obeyed and slid off Peter's back, clearly fearful as he found himself in the focus of the pirate's anger. The eternal boy frowned. "Why do you--"

"Just look at your!" Hook interrupted him. "You look like a ghost yourself! Do you want to face S'Hadh as a corpse?"

Giliath, upon seeing that a part of their troop had fallen behind, jogged back to them; again his feet seemed not to leave tracks. "We must hurry. Don't stop. The mists are growing and--" His gaze now swept to Peter, and shocked, he stared at his young friend. "Peter!" He touched softly the boy's shoulder. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Such as?"

"That you're nearly dead!" Wendy answered, who had returned – against Thalion's advice – when she realized that Peter and her younger brother had fallen back.

"I'm just a little tired, that's all!" the leader of the Lost Boys protested.

"A little tired?" Hook repeated. "I think you must be walking on pure obstinacy."

Peter shook his head and suddenly felt dizzy and cold – almost like two days ago, when he had fainted in the middle of the woods. The white of his surroundings began to blur, and instinctively he reached for support. Giliath wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulders and, alarmed, looked back the direction they had come. A strange whisper reached them, and the hairs on the Elf's neck rose. "They come," he whispered, and drew his sword. "Quickly now!"

Supporting Peter, Giliath moved him quickly along, Hook, Smee (the only one of the crew who had remained at the captain's side), Wendy and Michael followed. They could barely see the others far ahead, and tried to catch up. The uncanny whispers drew nearer and suddenly it was a mixture of howling and singing. Like an eerie chorus, the singing soared high and plunged deep and made the mortals shiver. On top of that, it started to sleet, cruel little chips of ice that bit the skin of their exposed faces. The trees around them vanished into blurred shadows, lost in the falling ice and the fog.

From out the haze, Thalion and his soldiers appeared, and positioned themselves as escorts on both sides of the little group. "You're nearly there," he reported. "About a hundred ells, less than two furlongs more, and you'll reach the path leading from the cliffs down to the castle."

Still walking, Hook wiped the icy water from his face with his hand. "Impossible," he replied. "I know the area around the castle, and we are not that close! It must be--"

"—an illusion, created by the Alrinachs. But it is not! Elvish eyes are not fooled as those of mere mortals." Anyone else saying this would have sounded arrogant, but Thalion stated it with such naturalness that it didn't bother anyone – not even Hook.

Giliath's brow was wrinkled with concern. "Peter is exhausted, even as the others are. Before we can reach the castle, the Alrinachs will have caught up with us." His gaze was fixed into the whirling white chaos behind them.

Thalion nodded. "I know. We will distract them until the mortals are safe within the solid walls." His gaze found Peter. "What say you, lad? Can you can keep up until then?"

The eternal boy glanced at him with glassy eyes. He couldn't even see the Elf clearly, but still he was too proud acknowledge any weakness. "Was that an insult?" he croaked.

Thalion lifted one brow. "I am serious, Peter. Alrinachs are draining off your life, and S'Hadh's presence makes you especially vulnerable. You already feel their effect on you."

"The only thing that's affecting me is this bloody sleet!"

The Elvish commander assessed him quickly and nodded before he addressed Giliath. "We will need your powers to keep them at bay."

Giliath looked sharply at Hook, who seemed to be the only one who had strength enough to support the boy. "Watch and help him," he asked gently and pushed Peter to the pirate's side. "If the Alrinachs catch up with you, then you must sing something joyful and soothing. They try to enchant you with their own songs, but the music of mortals is poison in their ears and will keep them away. This could be your only chance to escape them."

Before Hook could ask what that meant, Thalion pointed straight ahead. "A hundred steps more, you'll reach a large thorn bush. Don't let it deceive you. This only a false barrier placed there by the Alrinachs to bewilder you. If you attempt to go around it, you will fall from the cliffs – even if you don't see them and the dead end. It is a ploy of these creatures to trap you."

Hook stared at him, clearly irritated. "How--?" he began, but the commander shook his head.

"Ask me later. You must hurry now. And keep in mind that the bush is _not real_, and that it can only block your way you if you believe it to truly exist. Step through it to your right side, and you will find the path to the castle. We will follow as quickly as possible." With those words, he and Giliath vanished into the grey and white, following the Elves who already had run toward the danger.

Hook watched them leave, then wrapped his left arm around the boy's waist (a strange experience for both of them) and they all surged forward at the fastest pace they could manage. Taking a deep breath, Peter pushed Hook away, grumbling something that sounded like "I can do it myself!" and fought his way alone through the fog and sleet. The pirate swore under his breath and stayed close.

Wendy gripped Michael by the hand and remained at the captain's and Smee's side. "I'm sorry, Wendy," Michael said, finding himself the second time as the reason for inconvenience.

"It's all right," Wendy answered. "It is easy to mistake lurching with hiking."

"I'm not lurching!" Peter retorted.

Hook snorted. "Of course not! You're only rehearsing a new dance step!" Peter looked up at him, ready to throw another insult – and suddenly stopped, together with his tall escort.

A soft voice seemed to call through the icy wind, and laughed bell-like at his ear. Bewildered, the boy looked around. Directly in his path emerged a beautiful young woman, white as the snow, with a long white dress and white hair. She smiled warmly at him and lifted one slender hand to stroke tender fingers through his ice-soaked hair. Wonderingly, Peter observed her appearance and listened to her soft laughter, while Giliath's warning rang in his heart. A second woman came from nowhere, and embraced him gently from behind. From one moment to next, he felt warm, and the wind had died to nothing. The boy sighed with relief. It was so delightful to be free from ice and snow after hours of fighting it. The apparition behind him whispered soothing words in his ear, before she started to sing, a melody so sad and haunting that Peter instinctively yearned for more while it was breaking.

"Pan!" The dark and angry voice pierced the gentle song -- anything but sad and haunting -- and the next moment, someone roughly shook his shoulders. The white apparition beside him changed in the space of a heartbeat. She was no longer graceful nor beautiful, her countenance now grimaced in fury and her voice grew shrill. Her hand – only seconds ago offering tenderness – now formed suddenly into a claw that threatened to tear the mortal who had dared to interfere.

Hook jerked the boy out of the Alrinach's embrace and shoved him behind him. "I regret, Miladies, that this young heartbreaker is already spoken for!" He didn't see that Peter's knees gave out, that he tumbled into the snow. His gaze was fixed on the two Alrinachs, while he lifted his hook threateningly. The two apparitions soared in front of him side by side and watched him carefully. A third one rose out of a thicket. Hook frowned and glanced warily at the three mystical creatures, while Smee, Wendy and Michael went to Peter.

He raised one black brow toward the ghostly creatures. "I know that a pale complexion is a symbol of status, but for my taste, you overdo it!" he mocked. Never would he show them his uneasiness. The three Alrinachs laughed melodically and blinked flirtatiously at him – again transformed into tempting sirens. Hook swallowed. He knew that he couldn't fight them with hook, sword or pistol. And that they had chosen him to be their next prey was not a very reassuring thought.

"Peter?" he asked without looking at the boy. "Could you please play some fanciful tune on that silly flute of yours?"

But the eternal boy didn't answer. Head bowed, fighting for breath, he cowered in the high snow; Wendy and Michael crouched beside him and tried to shake him out of his peculiar state. Smee warily watched the three children and his commander, wracking his brains about what he should do.

The three Alrinachs encircled the pirate with soft laughter. Hook stared at them; his senses strained to the breaking point. And then he heard it … the soft gentle chant, with an almost painful clarity that made his nerves quiver. One of the apparitions stretched her hands toward him and touched his cheeks. Instinctively the buccaneer lifted his hook – and he suddenly felt that he didn't want to defend his little group anymore. The touch was tender and caressing, and woke every thought and feeling of desperate loneliness he'd ever known. Another hand stroked his hair away from his face, while two slender arms wrapped around him. Loving murmurs of understanding echoed in his ears; the promise that he would never be alone again.

… It would be so easy to surrender; to believe them, to find the peace and security he had missed so terribly his entire life …

The light, hoarse sound of the Pan-pipe drowned out the melancholy canto of the Alrinachs, and dashed Hook back onto the rocks of reality which he fiercely clung to, while the three mystical creatures pulled back with a whimper, releasing the buccaneer. The pirate-captain moaned and tried to shake off the numbness that had overwhelmed him and rubbed his eyes. He felt dizzy and had to fight to keep his balance.

"Cap'n!" Smee dared to take his commander's arm and pull him away from the now howling apparitions. "Sir, wake up! Please!"

Hook pressed his eyes closed for a moment, wrenched away from his Smee's grip and straightened. He still could hear the song of the Pan-pipe playing in the wind. A warm merry tune pierced the screeches of the Alrinachs, who squirmed and writhed. Suddenly, they darted back into the direction from which they had come, cursing and swearing wildly. But the mortal music had indeed driven them away; Giliath's advice for their defense had been more than useful.

Peter sighed heavily, and let himself fall back in the snow. That was close!

The tall man took several deep breaths, dragged his dripping cape tighter about him and, finally, adjusted his hat. He was tired – no, he was exhausted! And this only from a few touches from those misty creatures -- ! He didn't dare consider the consequences if the boy hadn't rescued him with that stupid flute. "Thank you, boy," he murmured hoarsely.

Peter lay with eyes closed, gulping air. "I think they had enough!"

"Not bad, Pan, "Better take another year's apprenticeship with the village piper"! Hook said in a rare fit of humor, and earned a weary laugh from the boy.

The brief time he had played on his flute had taken every ounce of strength he had. He had to force his air through the wooden pipes and had coaxed every single tone out of the reluctant little instrument. It was as though the presence of the Alrinachs had blocked the pipe, and now the boy felt completely drained. Even thinking was difficult.

"Peter! Don't fall asleep!" Wendy urged him, as she saw his eyes start to close. "Not here!"

"Just a few minutes!" he mumbled.

Hook now moved swiftly to the boy's side, knowing that sleeping now was a mortal danger. "Pan? Rise! Now!" Peter didn't respond, and the buccaneer's patience tore apart. "I said: Up! Up with you, boy!" His voice cracked like a whip.

Normally this tone would have put Peter on guard, but the leader of the Lost Boys only vaguely shook his head. "Iss so dark --" he mumbled.

Hook bent over him, mercilessly pulling the boy to his unsteady feet and shook him none too gently. "By the beasts of the Seven Seas, Pan, if you think I'm about to carry you again, then you're mightily mistaken --"

The man's words did not reach the boy, who collapsed against him. Only Hook's strong arm prevented him from falling. His deep breathing showed he had simply fainted. Hook cursed savagely (and Michael yelped and covered his ears) but when he received Wendy's indignant glare, the pirate's mouth snapped shut. The next moment, he asked himself what curse was riding him to cause him to obey a simple glance from this little witch! Grimly he crouched and dropped the boy across his left shoulder; cursing anew as his wounds complained loudly. "You'll pay for this, Pan. For every single favor I am forced to bestow on your pitiful hide, you'll pay!"

He stomped forward. "Move, ya scurvy dogs!" he barked, banishing the pain into the depth of his mind. Michael pressed himself fearfully at his sister, who gave him a tired smile. This time she didn't believe the wild threats of the pirate. She saw past the cruel mask. Picking up Peter's pipe, she took her brother's hand and followed Hook; Smee at her side.

As Giliath had told them, they met the rest of their group at a huge thorn bush, which seemed a long wall front of them. The boys burst into questions at the sight of their motionless friend. The pirate simply ignored them, and it was up to Wendy to explain what had happened.

"Where are all the Elves?" the captain asked.

Mason spoke up: "T'ey all followed t'eir commander to distract t'ose ghosts!"

"Yes, and weren't they successful!" Hook sneered. "They were so successful that we needed our little bigmouth here to chase them away with his silly pipe!"

"Maybe there were more behind us," Curly said.

Hook ignored him and walked over to the thorn bush and observed him closely. "And this is not real?" he asked after a moment, and looked warily at the finger-length thorns, which seemed to sprout from of every inch. He could make out every detail, down to the snowflakes collected on the branches and the details of the bark.

"Giliath said it's a trick of the Alrinachs," Nibs replied, and met the buccaneer's hard glare.

"Then we only can hope that our Master Elf hasn't been fooled!" he mocked and took a deep breath.

"Cap'n!" Mason asked. "Are ye sure t'at t'is is really imaginary?"

His commander shrugged. "We'll soon find out. But in all my explorations of this island, I never saw an abomination such as this one." His glance was suddenly fixed upon the children. "When we approach the castle, stay back until you're called. There are several traps to prevent unwelcome visitors. They are not for your eyes. I have no desire to see any of you within those walls."

The boys glared at him, and again it was Wendy who overcame her caution against the captain. She feared him less since last night, when he saved her life the second time. "Then you should repair the bars in the tower, Captain. For anyone who is able to fly can easily get into the castle by simply coming through the door."

Hook turned to stare at her. "Beg pardon?"

"The barred gates on the towers – they are hanging loose on their hinges and creak terribly when you move them. After all, I heard them that time."

"What time? When?"

Wendy tilted her head to look at him, her jaw set obstinately. "When you held my brothers and Tiger-Lily hostage and had come up there to look for Peter."

The buccaneer looked down at her. "So it was you up there?" Wendy nodded, still proud that he hadn't found her, and Hook shook his head. "I knew I heard something!" He grinned. "Congratulations, little one. It is unheard of for someone to slip my attention. No wonder even Pan can't resist you. You're a most extraordinary girl – Red-handed Jill."

"There's a first time for everything," the girl answered with a blush, and Hook smirked.

"Which do you mean? That you've escaped my search, or that I've admitted that you're special?"

Wendy blushed even more. "Your choice!" she mumbled and the pirate-captain had to chuckle.

"If I didn't know better, I would swear that you're flirting with me."

"What?" Wendy gasped. "How dare you?"

Hook grinned at her, deeply amused by her expression. "We'll talk about that later! Just now I must test the skills of your Elf friend."

"And if'n 'e's wrong, Cap'n?" Smee asked worried.

Hook's face changed back to his normal mocking expression. "Then our dear Master Pan will get the first load," he sneered and moved toward the thorn bush.

He hefted the boy up higher, seating him more firmly on his shoulder (with more reminders from his sore back). The illusion was quite good, and he had to remind himself that it was simply imaginary. The moment before he moved to step through the thorny branches, he felt a small hand on his arm, and he glanced back – then down into Wendy's pale face.

"Please wait, Captain. I'll do it."

Both brows shot upward. "You'll tear up your pretty face and the rest of you as well if the Elf is mistaken, or if you doubt for even a second that this damned thing isn't real!"

Wendy took a deep breath. "I know," she answered quietly. "But Peter is weak enough and is also hurt. He can't take any more." With those words, she slipped by the pirate-captain and toward the ice-jacketed thorns. They now looked even more dangerous to her, and Wendy gulped at the sudden lump in her throat. She knew her peril if the Elf were mistaken.

John had been watching his sister, open-mouthed, and suddenly life came into him. "Stop, Wendy. I'll go!" Smee looked at him. Yes, this boy really had guts.

Wendy held up her hand to him. "No, John, you stay here!"

"But--"

"No 'buts', John. I am your older sister, so no backtalk!" Michael tugged John's cape while he sputtered, but he obeyed. Taking a deep breath Wendy stretched her hands toward the dark branches. '_It isn't real!'_ she thought, breathing deeply, calming the fear and her pounding heart. '_It's only an illusion, so close your eyes and walk through it. It can't hurt you!'_

Hook's eyes were fixed upon her; two hearts suddenly beating in his chest. One of them urged him to stop her, to pull her back before she hurt herself. The other darker one rationally waiting for the moment she would finally be brought down a peg or two, punished for her effrontery.

Eyes closed, her small pale hand stretched toward what was clearly a large cluster of needle-sharp thorns, and the pirate spat a curse. "Stop!" he ordered. Before he realized what he was doing, he dropped Peter into the arms of a very surprised Smee, and pulled the girl away from the atrocity before her. She looked up at him – amazement in her eyes. "It would be a shame to scar that face if those pointy-eared magicians are mistaken, child," he grumbled. _WHAT was he doing?_ Only five days ago he was ready to twist her head off, and now he was ready to throw himself into the breach for her. It seemed that all practical sense had left him!

Wendy glanced back, saw Peter safe, and sighed. "Thank you," she whispered gratefully.

The corners of his mouth turned to a look of distaste. "Let it never be said that a _girl_ showed more courage than James Hook!" he announced to everyone present, more annoyed with himself than with her.

Without waiting another second, he walked into the thorny branches – and through them. In a moment, he vanished from their sight. It wasn't just Smee who took a breath of relief when Hook's voice called back to them, saying that everything was all right. The men and the children grinned as well. At last, some good news!

Immediately, Wendy followed Hook. She would show him who had courage! Yes, she was a girl, but not a whining coward! A strange icy breath seemed to coalesce around her, as she walked through the shadows. Even if the thorns appeared before her eyes, she simply went forward, and they vanished in her body and re-appeared behind her. Under other circumstances she would have been afraid, which would give substance to the Alrinach's spell, but for the moment she was simply fascinated, and that protected her. As she reached the other side of the 'thorn bush', she saw the tall form of the pirate-captain, and as she left the illusion, she found herself high on a cliff, by Hook's side. "Thank you," she murmured, but the buccaneer said nothing. Behind her she heard, "Let me try!" "Let's go through together."

With an odd expression, he looked down on the sea and then around him. "Incredible," he murmured. "I could have sworn we were still deep in the forest. In truth, we must have been walking along the cliffs for some time now." He pointed at the wood far behind them and shook his head. "Alrinachs! Another new thing I've learned about."

"You can be as old as dirt and still learn something new," the girl murmured an old saying.

Hook looked down at her and smiled when he heard something he hadn't heard in ages. "This magic is not taught in any schoolbook. Certainly not in the library at Eton."

"You attended Eton?" Wendy gasped. Since Eton opened its doors of higher learning in 1441, it was (and is) an elite university. It first admitted only members of the nobility; later gifted students from the upper levels of society. The idea that one of its illustrious students had become one of the most dangerous pirates in the world shocked Wendy.

She met his amused gaze. "Why shouldn't I have gone to Eton?"

The girl watched him carefully. This wasn't the first time that his noble appearance caught her attention, and it wasn't only his clothes. His posture, his manner of speaking, of fighting, his love of music, literature and his general knowledge and desire for Good Form spoke to her loudly. And then it hit her. Hook was an English noble!

Her next thought was: '_What is the truth about this man? Why has he become this sinister, cruel pirate? What circumstances forced him into this way of life?'_ She had seen first hand the other, gentler side of him. She longed to ask him about it.

Her head was suddenly full of questions, but she didn't dare voice them just now. Behind them the others approached, and Wendy turned and faced John and Slightly, closely followed by Nibs and Curly holding Michael's hands and Tootles who had the Twins by their hands. After them the came pirates– murmuring, curious. Cecco carried Peter and grumbled something about "T'e Irishman is too ol' fer t' hol' t'e brat," as he caught Hook's raised eyebrow.

Finally Smee came, wheezing and panting. "Everythin's a'right, Cap'n," he reported. "Only four of us are still back t'ere and--"

A rising howl -- it would have done an opera diva proud -- pierced the air. Then it changed into wild curses about so-called imaginary thorns and Elves. Hook sighed deeply, clearly too tired to become angry, and rubbed his forehead. "Mr. Smee? Please help Mr. Mullins out of there before the superstitious idiot gives away our location to every enemy in Neverland!"

TBC…


	18. Allies But No Friends

Dear Readers,

as promised I tried to publish the next chapter before I go to a vacation, and viloá, there it is. I hope you're going to like it and please, please review.

I am back at the begin of May and then the story will be continued. I whish you all a nice week,

love you all

Lywhn

**Chapter 17 – Allies But Not Friends  
**  
Carefully, the reluctant allies walked the rough, slippery path along the cliffs toward the Black Castle, now only a dark shape in the mist. From time to time they thought they could hear the harpies in the sky and pressed themselves closely along the stony walls, but to everyone's relief, they didn't see any of the nasty winged creatures.

Wendy had wrapped her arms around her and, out of curiosity, stepped carefully to the edge of the cliff and looked down. Where once the cyan-blue waves rolled against the cliffs, breaking into white foam at the barren entrance of the Castle, now sharp broken ice-floes were shoved upward into the twilight. The whole sea had frozen to the horizon, vanishing into the endless grey mist that lay encircling the sleeping Neverland. Eerie noises reached them from below, as the water under the ice continued to work, forcing ice-floes against each other. Cold wind tore at her clothes and hair, and she thought how she had never seen such a dead world. Around her were only bleak rocks, ice, a chilly mist and the frozen sea below with no sign of life. Even the ever-present song of the Never-Bird was silent.

"Careful, little one!" came Hook's voice beside her; slightly muffled by the warm shawl he had wrapped about the lower part of his face and throat. "Don't make us leave you behind, broken on that hellish mess below!"

Wendy looked up at him. "No! I really prefer bathing in a warm sea." The pirate grinned and moved on, and Wendy thought it better to stay near him, so she hastened forward to catch up. Finally, the high wall of the Black Castle appeared before them. The black stones of the ruin were partly sculpted out of the rocks of the cliff, covered with snow and ice. On a normal Neverland summer day, it would have looked romantic and forbidding, but the fog, ice, and the crunching noises of the frozen sea beyond transformed the image into a nightmare or horror-story you might weave into a tale told on a foggy All Hallows Eve. The windows looked like dark, dead eyes to the little group – chilling, indifferent. The wind sang through the partially broken battlements and the open fissures in the towers. Here and there they could hear loose doors banging in the wind.

The children looked uneasily about, and even John and Nibs were apprehensive. Wendy pulled her cape closer about her; fear creeping over her. She had been here once before – on that awful day Hook had held her brothers and the Indian chief's daughter hostage. Being nighttime, she hadn't seen much of the castle, only the landing area where she fought Cookson. The way down from the tower toward the catacombs was blurred in her memory – a dim recollection of long passages and endless stairs leading into the depths as, barefoot, she silently followed the captain down the long passageway. Only one thing had remained clear in her mind: her first sight of Hook emerging onto the battlement, hair flying in the wind, rifle in hand, piercing blue eyes seeking for her.

Recalling that seminal moment, Wendy looked up the dark walls toward the battlements. There was the parapet where she first laid eyes on her favorite villain of her stories; not as an imagination, but as a real man, flesh and blood, dangerous, entrancing. He had appeared only a dozen paces away, holding a heavy muzzle-loader, and clad in dark blue silks. He had scanned the stormy skies and recognized with the unmistakable instinct of a hunter that he wasn't alone. It had been pure luck that no flash of lightning revealed her hiding place to him. And Wendy hadn't let him out of her sight afterward – and not only because she had to follow him to reach the conflict in the catacombs. That had been a rare opportunity to meet the villain, a villain far more impressive than she had ever imagined him or told him. She was especially enamored of his forget-me-not-blue eyes – and still was.

Now, as she neared the castle, she saw how truly large the ruin was. It had chambers for over a hundred, when first constructed in the unknown past. But one day no one in the whole of Neverland still remembered, a mighty flash or earthquake had split the castle in twain, which must have driven out the inhabitants – whoever they were.

After that catastrophe, time had not been kind to the structure. The walls were weathered, and most of the stone gargoyles had lost their threatening expressions. But you could still identify what they were: demons in appearance and form. The question arose unbidden in her mind: who had built the Black Castle? And why? And another inner voice whispered that this ruin originated in a time before Neverland was the land of eternal childhood.

She felt a shiver crawl up her back. She was grateful for the presence of James Hook, in spite of his demonstration of danger and merciless cruelty she saw on her first visit. After all, the buccaneer knew this ruin very well, even lived here from time to time. Yes, everyone needed solid ground beneath his feet, even seamen, and as she guessed that Hook had lived in a castle before (in his youth), she had trouble believing that someone would live here of his own free will. Remembering the luxurious quarters on the ship, she needed every scrap of her imagination to see him here, within those decaying walls.

Hook led his men and the children over a small courtyard behind the outer wall, past an armored gate, and into something like a little garden. A circular well pushed up through the snow to their left, and along the walls the snow seemed to cover banks. Where they trooped now, more or less in single file, the snow wasn't as high on either side, a path of sorts, protected by the fortifications.

The pirate-captain led them to an impressive wooden door, then turned and glared at the children, which made them stop. He then nodded toward Smee and after the boatswain tampered a short time with the lock, then the hinges, the door swung open. Several pirates moved cautiously ahead into the structure, and began disabling or dismantling the traps set there. Then they returned to the captain, indicating it was safe to proceed.

They all followed the captain through a great hall to a staircase, then to another great room. The children's mouths fell open. Hook had created here his own private manse. Wide-eyed, they examined their surroundings – the heavy elegant furniture, the carpets, the portraits and paintings, the curtains, the barred windows, the china and candlesticks, the library and the huge fire-place.

Hook glanced at Wendy, chuckling. "What's the matter, my dear? Did you think I would live in a place less pleasant than my cabin?" The girl shook her head, lost for words.

"Sir, where shall I put t'e boy?" Cecco ventured, Peter still over the man's shoulder, out cold.

The buccaneer's eyes flickered toward them, and he waved toward the room where Smee normally bunked when he accompanied his captain to the castle. "Tuck him in bed in there. I don't think our sleepyhead will be joining us soon." He looked over to Wendy. "Perhaps you might make him more comfortable without the wet clothes."

Hook was right. The sleet and snow had soaked him through. Wendy followed Cecco, who carried the boy to the adjacent room. The other boys stood in an uncertain bunch in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do. Most of the pirates vanished through another door – apparently their own living-area.

"You -- stay over there," Hook ordered the boys and pointed toward the fireplace. "Make yourself useful and start a fire!" His gaze roamed the room. "Mr. Cookson!" he called and the cook's ugly face appeared in the doorway.

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"Prepare dinner for us all – that includes Elves and children. Choose yourself an assistant. I want to eat in an hour!" Not awaiting an answer he turned away – which is why Cookson dared to make a face. "Smee?"

"Aye, Sir?"

"Attend me. I need your assistance! My chamber!"

The old Irishman had not to ask what assistance his commander needed. It was obvious when he looked at his unshaved face, the torn clothes and the mess made of his curly mane. Sighing he followed his superior, while the boys rounded up the materials to start a fire. Wendy looked down at Peter lying motionless and pale on the warm, comfortable bed. She undressed him, save for his Neverland trousers. The rest of his clothing, together with her own cape and furl-doublet, hung by the small fireplace she had lit with Cecco's help. She was grateful that the giant black pirate showed some kindness, even though his tone was rough.

Sighing, she covered her friend with the comforter and poked the fire. The first warmth radiated through the room, nicely furnished and decorated: A broad bed, a wardrobe and a desk and chair. Carpets covered the stone floor and tapestries softened the walls. A second comforter with a tartan in earthy colors lay folded on the chair and Wendy took it, as well, to cover Peter. Satisfied that her friend was warm enough, she straightened and rubbed her lower back back.

She was tired – no, exhausted. The last two nights had been short and hiking through ice and snow to fight harpies wasn't exactly restful. The sight of the empty spot beside Peter was very tempting. She really wanted to lie down and sleep, but she had to look after her brothers and friends. Then, too, she was worried about Giliath, Thalion and the other Elves.

Yawning hugely behind one hand, she left the room, quietly closed the heavy door behind her and joined the boys. She helped Michael and the Twins out of their capes, checked their other clothes – yes, their boots had to be dried at the fire, for they were as soaked as her own, which she took off as well – and rubbed here a pair of feet, there a pair of hands, urging Nibs, Slightly and John to pull off the damp Indian jackets and get them dry.

She told them in a hushed voice of their encounter with the Alrinachs. "I say," remarked John, voicing the concern of all of them, "I hope the Elves are alright."

"You!" a gruff voice shouted, and Wendy turned around to see Cookson, and behind him Albino, staring at her.

"Do you mean me, Sir?" she asked as politely as possible.

The thin, ugly pirate nodded. "As I know ye can handle a knife so very well," his thumb skimmed the scar she gave him, anger showing in his ugly face, "now 's'time t' prove yer ot'er skills."

The girl swallowed nervously. "Beg pardon, Sir?"

"Nope, no pardon, witch, only bloody 'ard work," he growled, bent down and yanked her to her feet.

"Come join us in t'e kitchen, little miss," Albino grinned. "Jus' the work for a clever lass, and we'll watch, jus' t' make sure y' get it right!"

Wendy wrenched away from Cookson's grip and drew herself upward. From the corner of her eye, she saw that the boys were ready to help. She took a deep breath and answered as calmly as she could: "Of course I'll help, gentlemen, but I resent your tone!" Without recognizing it, she sounded almost exactly like Aunt Millicent. "If you want something from me, then--"

Cookson snatched the shoulder of her Indian dress and dragged her roughly with him. "T'e only t'ing my tone is tellin' ya is get busy peeling t'at heap o' taters an' onions down in t'e kitchen, and t'en ye'll get yer 'final reward'!" He grinned evilly, exposing a row of yellow broken teeth. The  
loathsome sight and his words were enough to rouse her ire. She hadn't survived a tidal wave, fought trolls and defeated harpies just to submit to some threats by this sorry excuse for a man!

"Let me go, you crude ruffian!" she hissed, slamming her fist into the cook's belly and kicking his shin. (Because she was barefoot, the kick had less than the desired effect.) But her kick and especially her blow were enough to make him loosen his grip. Quickly she pulled away, but not quick enough, because his hand shot forward, entangling his fingers in her long hair and wrenched her brutally toward him. "Damn bitch!" he snarled. "I'll cut yer talons once and for all!"

Wendy cried out more in shock than in pain, while the boys leaped forward with war cries, ready to attack Cookson. "Leave her alone, you ugly maggot pie!" John demanded, his eyes flashing, discovering that he had put his weapon aside with his wet clothes.

"Or what, ye spectacled mouse?" Cecco asked and stepped into his way.

"Don't t'ink I've forgotten t'at fool trick ye and yer brot'er played on me."

In the meantime, most of the pirates had come into the large room, hearing the beginnings of a quarrel, and stared at the boys with grim faces. Even if they were forced to be allies, none had forgotten the many pranks they had suffered.

Wendy hated having her hair pulled, and to her mortification, Cookson's rude handling now made her eyes water. But she kept her mind clear, knowing she had to prevent the situation from getting out of hand. She made her voice soothing. "Stay back, lads, stay calm. Don't let him provoke you to imprudent actions. These men are simply trying to draw you into an unfortunate open conflict."

"Just listen, lads. T'e chickadee talks almost as pretty as t'e cap'n does!" Cookson mocked and gave her a hard shove. "Brutes, we're dealin' wiv a lady 'ere!" The buccaneers started to laugh, "Even if she's a bit young

n' sallow!"

Wendy proudly drew herself upward as best she could, suddenly emulating her Aunt. (It seemed the old biddy's lessons actually found a place to set roots.) "If you don't understand common English, Mr. Cookson, than it has nothing to do with my articulation, but with your limited vocabulary!" she said bravely – but prayed that Peter would wake up, or that the Elves would return and help her now.

"I know all t'e words I need, girly!"

Wendy narrowed her eyes. "Mr. Cookson, for the last time--" She stopped when she felt two long arms wrap around her. "Hush, girl! We don't want 'im t' get e'en angrier, do we?" Albino's voice whispered in her ear, and disgusted, she turned her head away.

"Let me go!" she hissed.

Cookson signaled Albino to let her go, and the pale gunman reluctantly obeyed, pushing her toward the other man. The ship's cook grabbed her hair once again and dragged her along with him. "Enough, girly. T'e cap'n wants 'is dinner, and if gets impatient t'en you'll 'ear about it – from me!"

Wendy yelped in pain, tripped and fell, but the pirate pulled her mercilessly up and threw her over his shoulder. "Ye'll pay now fer t'e scar and fer shamin' me!" he snarled, while behind him the boys stormed forward.

They found themselves in a quickly escalating brawl, and were overcome by the buccaneers in seconds. After all, they were unarmed, the pirates were superior in number and well-trained men. They guffawed, while they held the enraged boys at bay, and watched their cook, who was attempting to tame the girl. "Let 'er live, or t'e cap'n'll boil ye alive!" one of them called gloatingly, and his comrades burst out laughing. They all had realized that their hard and unforgiving captain had a weak spot for the girl.

"She'll be a beautiful wench one day, so leave somet'ing fer me," Albino grinned, and looked greedily at her.

"No worry, Albino, ye'll get yer fun!" Cookson sneered and headed toward the staircase leading to the kitchen. The girl drummed at his back with her, fists kicked wildly around her and managed to tear his hat from his head and to paw her nails into his scanty hair. One of her feet contacted a certain area below his middle, and the pirate howled in pain, while his comrades roared with laughter. Only with great effort he managed to keep his balance. "Goddam harpy!" he gasped. "Ye'll hear from me now!"

Wendy heard the sound of a cutlass being drawn and panicked. She didn't even hear Cecco's "Stop it, Cookson!", while Mullins called: "Let her alone!"

"Let go of me!" she screeched, trying desperately to wrench herself free, when suddenly a dark voice echoed sharply from the doorway.

"WHAT THE DEVIL IS THE MEANING OF THIS BLOODY RACKET?"

Instantly the pirates and the boys went stiff, while Wendy felt relief washing over her. She was –almost -- sure that the captain wouldn't allow Cookson to harm her.

Hook walked deliberately through his men, who respectfully made way for him. He had been shaved and had changed clothes, but wasn't yet finished. The black shirt still hung open over his bandages and harness. He assessed the scene quickly -- boys held roughly by some of his men, a panic-stricken but combative Wendy over Cookson's shoulder, a drawn cutlass, ready to strike. Behind him stood Albino, looking warily at his comrade, and then greedily at the girl, which made Hook's blood begin to boil, even if he didn't know why.

"Put her down, Cookson!" The captain's voice could have cut granite, while he briefly wondered why he was so angry.

The ship's cook panted, still grimacing with pain. "Wit' all respect, Sir, but t'is bitch nearly turned me into a eunuch!"

Hook lifted one brow, while he walked into the front of the cook. "Is that so?" he asked levelly, and as Cookson met the icy look of his commander, he felt his heart sinking to the level of his injury. Nervously he swallowed. "Aye, Sir. Ye promised me a helper to make dinner, and Albino and me t'ought t'e girl could help t'e best in t'e kitchen. But she refuses and--"

"And the fact, that she can handle a sword better than you has nothing to do with you carrying her off like a sack of potatoes?" Hook interrupted, sneering.

Cookson felt the first sweat on his forehead. He knew his life – or his manhood – now hung in the balance. No one with two brain cells to rub together argued with Hook; especially not when he was in a mood like this. "She attacked me, Cap'n!" he tried again, but rather feebly. Attacking another crew-member was a crime on board the Jolly Roger, and Hook took the rules of his ship very seriously.

"That's a lie!" Wendy retorted loudly, her teary eyes directed toward the captain. "I only defended myself!"  
"T'e whole gang went crazy after ye were gone, Sir!" one of the buccaneers said. Several of his comrades nodded, others shook their heads – which told Hook enough.

John, who didn't know the pirate-captain that well, exploded. He pointed at Cookson, his finger shaking with rage. "He summoned her, threatened her and tried to drag her off by her hair!"

"And threatened to make her pay for his scar!" Slightly added.

"And he wanted to cut her!" Nibs snarled and kicked back at the pirate's leg who held him, as the man was twisting his arm. "And I am not shutting up, you ugly lout!"

Hook didn't need to hear any more. It was obvious what had happened here. And when he looked at the girl – reddened eyes flashing in an ash-pale face – and at the enraged boys, as well as at his men, who were trying to get the boys to shut up, he had more than he needed to make a decision. "Set her down, Cookson. Now!"

"Sir--" the ship's cook started anew, but snapped his mouth shut as he caught the murderous glare of his commander. Wordlessly, Hook closed the distance to him, stretched his arms out, lifted Wendy gently from Cookson's shoulder, careful to not harm her with his metal claw, and placed her beside him; ignoring the twinges in his arm and shoulder. Instantly she dashed the unwelcome tears from her eyes and ran her fingers through the tangles Cookson had defiled.

Both men watched their commander instinctively wrap his left arm around the shoulders of Wendy – a gesture of pure protectiveness that was completely out-of-character for him. Hook hadn't even noticed what he'd done, for his attention was on the rebellious crewmembers before him. "When I give an order, I demand obedience! Do you understand?" Hook's voice and eyes could have split the rocks outside.

Cookson wiped the sweat from his forehead with trembling fingers. "Aye, Cap'n. Please excuse … t'e pain, ye know?" He gestured toward his mid-section – and Hook's eyes widened as he finally understood what the cook meant.

For a moment he was tempted to burst out laughing. Bilgewater and barnacles, the soft little kitten became a snarling, clawing wildcat when threatened! – something he truly appreciated. He looked down at Wendy, who glanced with still damp eyes up to him – eyes that shimmered in the firelight. With his arm about her, she had – unintentionally – moved near him again, now close enough to feel the heat from his body, and he felt an unwelcome twitching in his not-quite-so-black heart. He sighed, barked a "Let the boys go!" over his shoulder, and shook then his head. "You know that you could have seriously damaged my cook, don't you?" he asked the girl, and she blinked, mystified.

"What do you mean?"

Cookson gaped at her, while his commander rubbed his eyebrows with the wooden cuff, as though he had a headache. "I would suggest that you ask your elder brother about it." John stepped forward, and Hook addressed him. "I thought you -- of all people -- would be smarter than to pick a quarrel."

The lad frowned. "He threatened and offended my sister! Of course I had to step in!"

"Oh yes, I forgot: You and your brother are 'English gentlemen'," Hook mocked, and glanced briefly at the other boys and his men, who still gaped at their captain with his arm wrapped around the girl's shoulder. What the devil had gotten into their cold-blooded commander?

Hook finally noticed their expressions and frowned. "What's the matter? Have you nothing else to do? I want a full inventory of all our ammunition and provisions in half an hour!"

Grumbling, the pirates scrambled back to their own common-room and the various storage areas to make the inventory – something Hook certain needed since the fight with the harpies. The boys, still throwing curious glances at the captain, started back to the fireplace; only John and Slightly remaining with Hook, Smee (who had followed his commander into the fracas), and Wendy.

"Mr. Cookson, if we were aboard ship, and not in such dire circumstances, I would throw you into the brig for a fortnight, and after that, the cat!" He felt Wendy reacting, but never shifted his flinty gaze from the ship's cook, who nodded, his face ashen. "But the situation being what it is, I have no other choice than to let you remain free to fulfill your duties. But be warned: One more misjudgment such as this, and the Jolly Roger will need a new cook!"

Cookson nodded. "Thank ye, Sir!" he whispered, clearly relieved.

Mr. Albino?" The pale man glanced at his commander. "As you've asked for a place on my ship, after no other captain wanted you because of your unfortunate and unlucky appearance, I gave you a chance, because I don't judge by appearances. And you're a good gunman, I will acknowledge. But if there is one thing I can't stand, then it is foolish behavior in a bad situation – especially during a mishandling of females. And what I like even less is your behavior toward our little storyteller here."

"Sir, I don't know what ye're meanin' and--" the pale buccaneer began, but Hook stopped him with a sharp glare.

"Mr. Albino, do you think me blind AND stupid? You're practically devouring her with your eyes. She is a child, for God's sake, so leave her alone!"

Smee stared open-mouthed at his commander. Since when did Hook stand up for a child? He loathed children! He'd never liked them since he'd known the man, and the Irishman guessed that it had something to do with his own boyhood, but since the incident with Peter Pan, the captain hated children. Only this pretty thing at his side seemed to be an exception -- and not only today.

But of course Smee understood that it was now a special situation. Hook had just prevented a potential disaster, and as the boatswain glanced up at the eyes of his captain beginning to glint red, he knew that now Hook would kill anyone who dared to touch the girl in a manner for which she was far too young. On the surface, he acted simply as a gentleman and reasonable grown-up, protecting a girl-child.

But Smee had his own ideas about the real source of Hook's protectiveness. The man could say what he wanted, but it was plain as the nose on his face, he liked and admired the child. It might as well have been carved on the walls.

Hook's gaze was still fixed on Albino, who – if possible -- had gotten even paler. "Sir, o' course I know t'at she's only a wee child. I … I'd never dare t'--"

"That you have no real conscience is well-known. Be warned. If I ever catch you acting toward our young Miss Darling in any other way than respectfully and kindly, you will not have time enough to make that final remark. Do you understand me?"

The gunman nodded. Hook smiled, but it didn't reach the icy daggers in his eyes. "Then I think it's time that both you gentlemen go about your duties. Since you're both strong enough to bully a little girl, I don't think you need any more assistance. So would two please begin TO GET MY DINNER?"

The last words were loud enough to knock dust from between the stones, and Wendy stiffened beside him. The two pirates saluted quickly. "Aye, Aye, Sir!"

"Very well. And I want to eat within …" he thought a moment, "I think you've wasted a quarter hour. So there only three quarters left. So I suggest you HURRY!"

Nodding the two buccaneers stormed toward the door, obviously relieved to still be alive, with all their parts intact. Hook sighed. "Rat-pack!" he growled and glanced down on Wendy.

"They won't finish in time," she said quietly. "They have to cook for nearly a hundred, and --" Hook explained, "T'is not my problem. 'Tis only a question of right-thinking."

Wendy frowned. "Pardon, Captain, I learned a lot about feeding a household, but--"

The pirate chuckled. "Child, I told them I want to eat in an hour. When the other ones get their meal is not my concern. They're free to assist if they want to eat sooner."

The girl stared at him, perplexed, amused. She'd just had a lesson in how a pirate captain thinks. "Very thoughtful," she finally said, and Hook smirked again. This time it did reach his eyes, and it made him look younger, less grim, and Wendy almost smiled, too. She still felt chilled to the bone – more out of fear than from their journey – and she fought the urge to wrap her arms about him and warm herself against him. "Thank you again for you help, Captain," she said quietly.

The buccaneer sighed. Without meaning to, he stroked her cheek, which was cool. "If you want to pick a fight with one of my men, then next time choose one who isn't three times more stubborn than you are. You see now what direction it will lead. These men here are pirates who kill, and not rough-looking playmates. Always remember this. I cannot and will not stand up for you a second time against my own men." His tone was firm, but not scolding. He was simply relaying to her a fact of life.

Wendy nodded. "I am sorry. I … I tried to reason with him, but he only dragged me away and hurt me. So I fought him."

Hook observed her. She was pale and looked very tired, but still there was the unmistakable spark of will in her eyes. "Of course everyone has the right to defend himself, even when it's not the wisest thing to do. But it is a right I concede every one of my men, despite place and time. And what you did was go too far. If you were older, I would suspect that you'd kicked him there on purpose." He saw the questioning look in her eyes and sighed again. Was she really that naïve? "But I understand that it was an accident. Ask your brother what I'm talking about." John immediately turned three shades redder. "Nevertheless you should be more careful. Agreed?" Wendy nodded, even if she didn't comprehend what Hook meant. "And as payment for my coming to your rescue, you can do me favor, little one." Wendy waited, eyebrows raised. "The bandage must be changed, and your hands are much gentler than Smee's." He grinned over his shoulder at Smee, a grin the Irishman returned.

"I understand ye, Sir."

Wendy, again the little nurse, nodded. "Of course, Captain."

He assessed her, and saw her slight shivering, his glace then dropping to her bare feet. He frowned. "Where are your boots?" Alas, here he was, showing concern – again! Dammit all, he really should have other things to address than her bare feet! It should not matter to him! Wait – '_should_ not'? It _DID NOT_! This was the right word – or not? _'Really, James, you need to get control of yourself!'_

In answer to his question, the girl pointed toward the fireplace, which looked like laundry day at the orphanage. Hook shook his head again, and gave in again to his own black humor. "If it weren't so cold, I would think myself in southern Italy!"

Wendy had to giggle, as well as John and Slightly, and these cheerful sounds lifted his mood. It wasn't often that he could make someone else laugh! "Well, then, let them dry and come with me. I think somewhere I've a pair of stockings you can wear."

'_Ugh, James, you're doing it again! You're a pirate, for God's sake, and pirates do not take responsibility for nervy little girls who fool, trick, and almost get them killed! And they DON'T offer them stockings! What are you? A frustrated saint?'_ he moaned inwardly. But a quick look at her grateful, luminous smile once again sent this nagging voice back into the depths.

Exchanging a surprised glance, the boys and the girl parted. John watched her leave as she followed the pirate-captain, who even opened the door for her. "Did you get what's happening with Hook?" he mumbled to the others.

"He acts like he cares for her!" Slightly nodded.

"Maybe he does!" Tootles speculated.

John stared at him. "Hook caring for someone? The cold really has gotten to you."

Tootles frowned. "He saved her life twice and rescued her from his own men. Whaddaya call that?"

"Definitely not 'caring'. This is Hook we're talking about. If he 'cared' for her, he wouldn't have her forced her to walk the plank."

"But he comforted her," Michael added, pushing himself between John and Tootles. "I seen it."

"Michael and Tootles are right," Nibs joined conversation. "The plank happened a long time ago. He has a weak spot for her now. And maybe this is the best thing that could happen to us all."

John made a rude noise. "If you really believe that, then--"

"Then tell me, why he comforts and helps her. Yes, we're allies in the moment, and allies help each other, but there is no need to comfort one. But he did!"

"Lads, be quiet!" Curly cut in, and the Twins, who had followed him, nodded: "You don't want to—"

"—wake up Peter!"

The other boys clapped their dirty hands over their mouths, looking guilty. Slightly glanced over toward the closed door where their friend and leader slept. "What do you think?" he asked no one particular. "Was he just that tired, or is this the work of one of S'Hadh's wicked spells?"

"Spells?" Tootles asked, and Slightly nodded.

"Yes, the kind of attacks Giliath told us about."

The other boys shrugged. "Could be," Nibs murmured. Curly scratched his mess of gold-red curls. "Giliath… I really hope that him and the other Elves're all right. I like 'em a lot."

John nodded. "Yes, I like them, too. And without them we'd probably be dead by now, or still trying to get around that horrid bush.""Without them, things would be a lot worser."

Nibs threw his head back. "Michael, when will you ever learn that it's just 'worse' and not 'worser'?"

Michael looked at him haughtily. "That is my own special word."

Tootles laughed and Nibs tugged at his collar. "I'd bet it's just you being

lazy."

Michael stuck his tongue out, and in the next moment, a quarrel would have started if Slightly hadn't prevented it. "Quiet! Peter needs his rest and we don't want to attract the pirates' attention again. If it came down to another fight, I don't think even Wendy could save us from a thrashing."

Grumbling, the other boys obeyed and returned to the fireplace, finding quieter games to play until dinner.

-----------------------------------

Soon Wendy found herself again tending the wounds of James Hook, who was again naked to the waist.

She had hesitated at the door in astonishment as she looked upon the elegantly appointed room, Hook's large private suite. The furniture was an entire bedroom suit of dark knotted wood in Spanish style – armoire, valet, chest of drawers, vanity, chaise lounge, desk and chair, end tables, trolley with tumblers and carafe, and a luxurious four-poster bed with heavy blood-red curtains and canopy. Lanterns stood about in the darker corners, now lit, with etched glass chimneys. A fire crackled in the giant fireplace. The pillows and blankets were encased in white satin, a heavy comforter along with two giant furs covered most of the bed. The windows were barred, and thick velvet-curtains matching to the ones around his bed were pulled nearly closed in front of them. Deep warm carpets protected one's feet from the stone floor.

After Hook had given her a pair of heavy woolen stockings from the chest of drawers (too large and too long, but the soft warmth was heavenly), Wendy felt the last chill leaving her, allowing her to relax.

A door led into another room where Smee vanished after they entered Hook's chamber. He padded about in there with something, humming a sweet, strange melody. After Hook had again removed his shirt and harness with Wendy's help, he sat down on the cushion in the low chair in front of the vanity, and gestured for her to begin.

Carefully she removed the layers of bandage. Blood had dried in the cloth, making them stick to his injuries. Wendy asked Smee for another bowl with water – this time cool – and macerated them carefully so she could pull the bloody bandage away without re-opening the wounds. She knew that the procedure was painful for Hook, even being as careful as she could, but no sound escaped the pirate's lips. When they were finally off, only then did he hiss quietly.

"Sorry," she whispered, and he grumbled something that sounded like " 'S'alright." Wendy took a closer look – and gave a little gasp. "Amazing!"

He frowned warily. "What's the matter?"

"They … they're smaller. And the skin around the wounds isn't red or swollen anymore!" She carefully laid a hand on the uninjured portion of his shoulder to check the temperature. "And the fever seems to be gone." She started to smile. "This potion the Elves made is wonderful!"

Hook turned to look, thinking that she was coddling him. His right upper arm, shoulder and upper back still hurt like the dickens, and she said that she already could see it healing?

A clatter at his feet and the touch air on his scar startled him. Shocked, he glanced down. The wooden cuff, which (of course) he'd been holding while she worked, had slipped from his mutilated arm and exposed -- it. And Wendy, standing right next to him, would have had to be blind not to see it.

Hook closed his eyes to avoid the look of disgust on the girl's face. He almost waited for her exclamation of fear or loathing … but …

… it never … came.

Wendy stared down at the exposed end of his arm. Where once had been wrist and hand, doubtless as strong and well-formed as his left one, was now only a rough piece of meat. The skin had been drawn and sewn over the bones to close the wound Peter's knife – or sword – had caused, and ended in two crossing scars, still a deep red. The skin was paler than the rest of his arm, almost a yellow color. The tip was uneven and revealed the violence with which the limb had been hacked through. She always knew that it had been a savage fight between her Peter and the pirate-captain, but she had never considered the injury that – in the end – gave the buccaneer his name.

It had always sounded so exciting: a razor-sharp blade instead of a hand, attached to his body as if it were a part of him – so fitting for a dangerous, grim pirate-captain. But now, seeing the reality was startling, chilling, and not because of the threat, but because of the pain and the loss she saw there. This wasn't something to tell stories about, nor get excited about, nor inspire shivers in a nursery lit only by the nightlights, a creepy piece of imagination. No. It was nothing like that. This was a cruel injury – an injury that would never heal. An injury that branded him, disfigured him, until the end of his life.

She dropped the cloth she still held back into the bowl and gently touched his arm directly above the old injury, kneeling down beside him. She felt him stiffen and raised her eyes to meet an angry glance, his mouth open for a snarl, but he said nothing. For a long moment, they only looked into each other's eyes, until Wendy asked the first question that came to her mind: "Can you still feel there?"

Hook stared at her – shocked, unbelieving, irritated and bewildered. Where was her fear? her aversion? Why didn't she recoil from this disgusting sight? Why was there no horror on her face? And why, for God's sake, did she even touch … it? Even he couldn't stand it, and Smee always fought the urge to back away whenever he saw the mutilation, but Wendy simply knelt down beside him and touched his arm, and asked …

… How he felt.

And then her question hit him. She had asked him if he could still feel something in his stump – something certainly no one had ever wasted thought on! Yes, he could. He even could feel her warm fingers gently touching the cool skin – a human gesture so comforting and innocent, he felt as though all his internal organs had just melted. No one, not even Smee, had ever touched it after it had healed enough to be not a mortal danger to him anymore. And this slip of a girl didn't shy away from it?

He recognized that she was waiting for an answer, and he cleared his throat where a lump had suddenly appeared. "Yes," he murmured hoarsely. "Does it still hurt?" she asked, her eyes widening.

Silently he nodded, before he added: "From time to time it does."  
Her finger brushed gently over the dry, rough skin. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Hook felt anger rising in him. He didn't need pity! He didn't need –

But he saw no pity on her youthful face, only tender compassion – and he didn't mind. Rather the opposite. It almost comforted him, and he felt himself soften toward her one more degree.

He groaned, closed his eyes, and pursed his mouth. Alas, the most dangerous pirate on the Seven Seas – glad for the bland compassion of a little girl! Unbelievable! What an evil pirate he was!

Wendy pulled her hand away – and he immediately missed the contact. "Sorry … d … did I hurt you?"

He remembered that he had groaned – a signal she had misunderstood. "No, little one, you didn't hurt me." He sighed and glanced down at the useless limb. "It sometimes reacts in strange ways, that's all!" Not for all the gold and emeralds of the Incas would he would admit why he had groaned!

Wendy examined the arm briefly, took the second bowl from beside him with the rest of the Elf's ointment, and anointed the scarred area with careful fingers. "Perhaps you should take better care of it," she said softly under her breath. "The circulation is probably poor there, so you have to take special care of your skin."

The cool ointment felt very good, even if the nerves behind the scars were damaged. And it eased the twitches and itches, not the only result of the narcotic components of the ointment. Wary and still amazed, he watched her small hands smoothing it into the loathsome scarred stump.

Finally she lifted her eyes to his and gave him a small smile, one he was beginning to recognize and look forward to, for it bespoke good things to come. "I'll ask Giliath if he knows of a formula for a treatment that can be made from the herbs of Neverland. I'm sure he could help."

Hook took a deep breath, touched by her concern and sympathy. "Why doesn't it disgust you?" he asked quietly, and her eyes took on a look of surprise.

"Why should it? This is, after all, an injury, and injuries and scars are nothing to be disgusted with." Her next remark seemed only to be made to herself: "Besides, who would want to come to the end of their life with no scars?" She glanced back at the brutal cut, and then back at him. She saw something like sorrow and pain in his eyes, disbelief mixed with hope deeply hidden in those blue depths, and continued, her voice husky: "In truth, sir, I am sorry … I'm sorry that I never really thought of it – of the consequences of this injury for you. I suppose I thought that what is … always was … but seeing this … I know that it wasn't always." She sighed. "I know I'm saying it badly –" and felt his warm fingers touching her cheek.

He said nothing, but the shifting expression in his eyes told her more then a thousand words. For a long transformational moment, she was not looking at a grim pirate-captain anymore, but a wounded man – not only in body, but in soul as well.

A loud noise from the adjacent room startled them both out of their strange reverie. A slurred curse followed and then a deep sigh. "Bloody cursed flat-iron!"

Wendy had to giggle and saw the smirk on Hook's face reappearing. "He really has his problems as a valet," he said. The girl couldn't help herself -- she laughed openly. It was so good to finally laugh again after all the stress, fear and worry. To her amazement, she heard Hook joining her, and one look at him proved that he really was amused.

Smee's red countenance appeared in the doorframe – red and clearly not amused. His glance found the giggling girl, kneeling beside his commander and scoffed: "Have y'ever tried to iron t'ose damn silk shirts?" He made a face, and addressed his captain: "Sorry, Sir, but t'ey really have a mind o' t'eir own, an' wander away whenever I come near wit' t'e iron."

Wendy was laughing harder by now. "Maybe you should talk to them and ask them nicely to stay put. Maybe they'll listen to you!"

Smee spat, growled something she didn't catch and vanished again. Hook chuckled. "You really have the best imagination, little storyteller."

The girl grinned at him, forgetting completely that he was, after all, an enemy forced to ally with her and her friends. In this moment, the world had changed, especially concerning the pirate-captain of her fairy-tales, who was now in good mood. She rose and wiped away the excess ointment. "Maybe he has ruined too many of them, and they don't want to end up like their comrades," she joked, and had Hook chuckling again.

"You should see his fingers at times," he smirked.

"Yes, I can imagine: it's just those shirts getting their revenge!"

"Be careful I don't take it out on you, and make you do the laundry!" Smee called over to her, clearly irritated. "When yer as good as … Ouch!" A string of Gaelic curses were heard, and while Wendy anointed Hook's wounds, the man laughed heartily, hearing the desperate attempts of his officer to iron more wrinkles out of his shirts than the ones he put in.

--------------------------

Deep beneath Neverland the dark figure fixed his cold gaze on his feathered ally, collapsed before him. Several of his servants had found her half dead at one of the exits to the outer world. His hands could bring death, but also sort of healing – if he chose. This was not often the case, but at the moment, he needed this winged ally, and even he knew that it wouldn't be wise to refuse to help the daughter of the North Wind.

His claw-like hands explored the two wounds in her chest, while his thin lips murmured words no one should ever say or even hear. He ignored the curious, fearful gazes around him, while he concentrated on the magic that began the healing process. It wouldn't heal the wounds from the Elfish arrow and the boy's knife, but the creature could ignore them long enough to collect her strength. She would live to fight another day.

As he finished, he felt drained. He wasn't as strong as he used to be. Even magic couldn't preserve this body forever, even if it had given him the power to live now for hundreds of years. But he would have the strength of the youth soon, or he would fade away. There was no doubt about. It was a secret he held resentfully in his black heart.

"Master?"

He lifted his head as the croaking voice beside him addressed him. His brow-less forehead puckered when he saw the goblin there. "Yes?"

The creature's long, brown finger pointed toward the entrance, illuminated by one of the many torches bathing the subterranean caves and passages in a red twilight. "They've arrived, Master, and are waiting your instructions."

He nodded and waved toward a black dwarf. "Keep an eye on her. She will be awake soon, and then I want to talk to her. I am sure that she has interesting things to tell."

The fathomless eyes of the black dwarf looked back, and he nodded. "As you wish, Master!"

Without wasting another glance at the weakened harpy, S'Hadh left the cave to welcome and to instruct the new allies, he had 'recruited'.

TBC…


	19. New Plans

Dear Readers,

I am back from my vacation - that was, by the way, really super, even if it rained several days - and now I am ready for many new things. I am sorry that I didn't updated sooner, but somehow there was a problem with the document-submitting for the new chapter.

Nevertheless I hope you enjoy it and pleeeeeaaaaase review.

Love you all

Lywhn

**Chapter 18 – New Plans **

To everyone's tremendous relief, the company of warrior Elves finally returned later in the evening. They looked worn and two of them were wounded, carried by their comrades. Even the uninjured ones and been wounded in spirit by the Alrinachs. Their Elfish eyes, up to this point, had always sparkled with the inner light of the stars, but tonight the starlight seemed to hide behind clouds. Giliath took charge of them and retreated into a quiet corner of the common room, where he was able to release his healing powers. In the meantime, Thalion reported what had happened.

The Alrinachs had known they were coming, and concocted an elaborate deception. Of course, it was much more difficult for them to seduce an Elf into submission than a human, but even that race was not completely immune to their effect. It had been Giliath's special skill that had saved his comrades in the last moment. And now the healer/warrior was exhausted, obvious in the look on his wan face when he returned from the common room, hungry, ready to eat.

Of course, Cookson and Albino did _not _have the captain's dinner ready within the assigned time, but served everyone dinner nearly two hours later. It hadn't occurred to either of them to prepare Hook's dinner first and then do the rest, but Albino had saved their skins (literally) by serving his commander a stew after three quarters of an hour, which did not really allay Hook's mood toward them, but prevented him from 'punishing them properly.' Nevertheless, the captain wasn't finished with the ship's cook and his assistant, and both men knew it.

Hook, now groomed and presentable, sat with Giliath, Thalion, Smee and two other Elves around the great dining table after dinner, while the children prepared for bed – or rather their pallets in front of the fire. At the beginning of dinner, Hook had invited Wendy to the table, in deference to her gender, but the girl had refused, saying that if the boys could not share this 'luxury', neither would she.

She hadn't been rude or saucy; simply used her sweetness, adding, as if an afterthought, that the boys would certainly benefit from the example of a true gentleman's manners, if he would be so generous. She cautioned them all in a low voice to pay close attention to the Captain's manners, and to imitate him whenever possible. And only when all the boys – except of course the still-slumbering Peter – were seated at the other end of the long table did he realized how she deftly manipulated him into granting her request, giving her exactly what she wanted by making HIM want it.

'_Damn clever little bird_ ... _She really knows how to wrap a man around her little finger!_' he had silently to admit. But after she had bandaged him so well, and had even shared a good laugh with him, he didn't mind so much – even if it bothered the pirate side of him. Before she left his chamber, she bit her lower lip and shyly asked to borrow a comb and brush for her own hair. And of course he handed them over without a second thought. It was only after she departed that he found himself pondering at length what it would be like to run his fingers through that walnut silk, and touching it to his face.

After a surprisingly tasty repast (through which all the children yawned frequently behind their hands), Wendy bid them all good night and vanished into Smee's room where Peter lay. She would sleep there to be near him, should he have more nightmares. First she dressed the cut on her hip (her arm had been re-dressed by Giliath just before dinner), and slipped into the comfortable bed beside Peter. The feather mattress felt heavenly after the past nights on hard earth, and she was asleep within two breaths. The other children rolled themselves into their blankets, and quickly fell into deep dreamless slumber.

Only the grownups – Elf and pirate – remained at the table a little while longer, until they also withdrew for sleep. Three Elves and two mortals stood guard, as would others three hours later.

Silence reigned now in the Black Castle, and the only noises were the cracking of the fires, the snoring of the men, and here or there a shifting of the sleepers. This was how Tinker Bell found them when she appeared later that evening, accompanied by another fairy. The new one had long red hair and wore a garment of pink rose petals covered with a cape made of the fiber of rose leaves.

Tink flew to the Elfish guard and Billy Jukes, also standing guard together with a grumpy Alf Mason, and shooed away the tattooed pirate to wake his captain. Grumbling, the buccaneer did as he was told (after all, he was under orders to wake Hook if something important happened), while the Elf woke Giliath.

The _Tirnion_ exchanged a few words with the fairy, before he walked quickly to the room where Wendy and Peter slept. The Elf regretted waking the boy, who lay tucked next to the girl in peaceful sleep, and looked healthier than before, not only from the restful sleep, but also because of Giliath's help shortly after he and his comrades had returned. Again he had shared his strength with the boy, and the results were easy to see now.

He gently shook Peter, but after the Elf's charms several hours ago, it was difficult to wake the boy. Finally, still groggy, the tousled golden head lifted and sleepy eyes blinked at him. At first Peter was completely disoriented and quite embarrassed to learn that he had 'fallen asleep' in the wood; second, that Hook and his pirates had carried him to the Black Castle, and – worst of all! – that he had missed dinner! Even if he had slept like the dead, he still felt absolutely whacked as he slid out of the warm comfortable bed, looking longingly at Wendy. Somehow he had sensed her nearness, even in sleep, and to leave her now was almost painful. As he stood beside the bed in the chilled air, he yearned to snuggle back under the blankets and to nestle himself against her. But duty called. He had already slept too long. Sighing he wandered into the dining room, barely illuminated by several candles and the fireplace.

With wakening eyes he glanced around -- never before he had been in this part of the Black Castle. He knew that Hook lived there from time to time; never for very long, two or three nights at most. So it hadn't occurred to him that the captain would make an attempt at creating a semblance of comfort here. But he was much mistaken, as he saw now. The entire room bore the stamp of the buccaneer, mingled with the ancient style of the original ruin – and Peter had to admit (to himself) that he liked it, that he felt almost secure in the second home of his worst enemy.

Clearing his throat, he toddled over to the dining table, passing Michael, Curley, Tootle and the Twins still slumbering in oblivion on the floor, and sat down between Slightly and John. Nibs, Thalion, a drowsy Smee and Hook were present, too, glaring at him. On the table, the boy saw Tink along with a strange fairy; both close enough to a low candle to warm up.

"Tink! Are you alright?" he asked. Tinker Bell nodded and gave him a tired smile. The boy sighed in relief, then yawned and rubbed his eyes, while the pirate-captain glanced mockingly at him. "Blimey, look who rose from the dead!"

Peter shot a sleepy glare at his foe. Hook had been chased out of the bed, too. He could tell from the tousled mane and the red robe, slightly askew, as well as the empty sleeve missing the hook.

"Sorry, everyone," he murmured and watched Giliath taking a seat. "But … I've been … very _yawwhhhh …_" The last word was a big yawn.

"Tired?" Hook scoffed. "I could have fired off Long Tom next to you."

The eternal boy shrugged. "Thanks to S'Hadh and his Alrinachs." He yawned again. "I don't know what kind of sleeping-spell they used on me, but it worked!"

"The Dark leaches your strength," Thalion said, "and the Alrinachs feed off of it as well. One of them touched you, Captain Hook told us, and both enemies, acting in tandem, made you faint."

"Faint?" Peter gasped. "I never faint!"

The pirate-captain sneered, "Then you performed a masterful imitation of it, Pan, worthy of a true thespian!"

The boy made a face. "Go suck an egg, Hook." It was at this point that his stomach grumbled and the boy blushed.

Hook observed his young nemesis carefully and then the two fairies on the table. Feeling a snarl coming on, he instead addressed Smee, who sat beside him in an old robe and overlarge slippers, nodding off. "Smee? Get whatever is left the kitchen for the two little ladies and our sleepyhead over there. This conference is useless if we can't concentrate because of their noisy stomachs."

In no good humor for being roused in the middle of the night, and annoyed by having to play butler for someone other than his captain, he padded toward the door to the staircase leading down to the kitchen and vanished, mumbling incoherently into his grey beard. Hook watched him going, and shook his head.

Peter leaned on the table and examined the two fairies by the candle, both looking disheveled and dirty. "Whadja find?" he asked, scratching his head. Tink shot him a dark glare and jingled something rude. The leader of the Lost Boys sighed. "I know you're tired, but --"

"Leave them alone, Pan!" Hook said firmly to the surprise of the two new arrivals. "Unlike you, these ladies haven't been keeping company with the mattress for the last few hours. So let them rest until they have eaten. Smee will return soon – hopefully!" he added.

"But we need every minute--" Peter started again, only to be again interrupted.

"If I can be patient, boy, so can you! Especially here, within my own four walls!" he barked.

The boy's eyes flashed, but Slightly took his arm. "Peter? You know I feel the same, but Hook is right. Just look at them. They're really beat up!"

Tink glanced up at Peter, looking decidedly pathetic, and, nodding, rubbed her big eyes. Feeling a little guilty, the boy conceded, "Sorry, Tink – and you, too." He addressed the other fairy, which Tinker Bell introduced as Aurora, a rose-fairy. Peter bowed his head toward her. "Thank you for your help, Aurora," he went on. "I apologize for being grumpy, but all this is slowly driving me daft!"

" 'Slowly'?" the pirate-captain muttered, though he reluctantly agreed with Peter, feeling the same. Separated from his ship, enclosed in winter and dangerous creatures on all sides, forced to ally himself with his worst enemy, accompanied by members of a strange race known only from legends, and facing an enemy in a fight he didn't know how to wage did nothing to lift his mood. Laying his head back, he glanced up to the cambered ceiling above him, too dark to be seen clearly. He _hated_ not knowing. It made him nervous, uneasy – two things he vaguely admitted to himself, but which were all too real in the moment.

The door to the kitchen stair swung open and Smee entered, balancing a tray on one hand, and carrying a pitcher in the other hand, while he swore under his breath: "Damn hobgoblins!"

"'Damn' what?" John asked. "Goblins? Here?"

Peter shook his head. "Easy, John, Smee meant hobgoblins, not goblins, distant relatives, and a lot nicer than those ugly sword-swingers!"

"If they're that nice, then why do you call them hobgoblins?"

"Because they can be helpful or just plain trouble. Depends on how you treat them. They're like gnomes – they like kitchens, y'know." Peter went on to answer many of John's questions about the creatures, how they lived in the backs of cupboards, corners of pantries, places that people can't reach. They love the households they live in, and provide a helping hand if you repay them with milk or cheese. But woe to the person living there if you prove ungrateful for their help! Ingenious troublemakers, they love sweets, and can pilfer the food from under your nose. "They're quite comical – Wendy would probably call them 'sweet'."

He stopped when Smee shoved a plate in front of him, growling: " 'Ere's a gift from your 'sweet' playmates!"

Peter glanced down at the bread, cheese, meat and apples, all with small bites taken out of them. "Well," he sighed, taking the knife and pulling off the part where the hobgoblins had nibbled, "sometimes you have to share. But, on the other side of the coin, they do bring good luck, as well as protect the kitchen where they live." John made a face and pushed his glasses back, his gaze still fixed on the food on Peter's plate.

" 'Ave to share'?" Smee complained and moaned about the little 'squatters'. " 'Ave a look at t'e sacks of food -- t'e sharing's all done from our side!"

The boys hid their smirks behind their hands, while the two Elves raised an eyebrow. "It shouldn't bother you so much, Smee – you should be used to piracy!" Peter joked, and the man snorted crossly while he refilled everyone's goblets, and then his own to the brim.

Peter wasn't bothered by the bites the hobgoblins had taken for themselves. Having fasted many hours, he ate with an enthusiasm and appetite that surprised everyone. Within minutes, he had gulped down four large sandwiches of meat and cheese, two apples and three goblets of well water. John, Nibs and Slightly watched, hardly believing. "Tootles has nothing on you, Peter! You just broke his record!" Peter grinned and pushed the plate away.

The captain stared at the boy. "Don't tell me you're already full," he sneered, amused.

The eternal boy leaned back and rubbed his belly, a satisfied big smile on his face. "Yep, for now. Thanks, that was good!"

Hook shook his head. "Incredible. Where do you put it all?"

"Here!" the boy pointed at his belly – and the buccaneer laughed.

"You just had enough for two men, boy."

"See? I'm full of surprises."

"I always knew it."

"Thank you!"

"You're wel-- That wasn't a compliment, brat!"

"Oh, sure sounded like one – codfish!"

This time everyone around the table laughed, and even the two opponents had to smile, until they realized they were getting along, and their faces instantly grew serious again. Which made everyone else laugh harder.

Tink and Aurora had bread and cheese crumbs, and drank several sips of the very tasty red wine Hook had given them from thimble-sized containers. The fairies were tiny -- yes, but the captain knew that they weren't children, and therefore allowed them wine. And the two little ladies thanked him in their own language. Tink straightened and began their story. Most of the big folk understood her, except John and possibly Smee, so Peter translated the fairy's report:

"The passage behind the stone-dragon leads to a hidden chamber that connects to the other side of the castle, as well as leading to another passage that goes into the mountains. Tink and Aurora were in there the whole day, and explored it as far they dared. At first you pass several natural caves. They're narrow, but if we're careful, we can manage it." He listened to Tink's next explanation and started to smile. "Beyond that, there's a passage that leads deep into Neverland's underground. We'll pass through several more caves and from there we'll reach the stalagmite-cave, a warm fountain, several more caves and then there's only a few more bends that end behind the enemy lines."

The other boys grinned broadly. At last – good news! Hook leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. "Where exactly does this passage come out, and why haven't those beasts found it yet?"

Tink glanced with hooded eyes at the captain – as if to check him over once again. It was a strange experience, working with this man. After all, the last time she did it she had nearly cost them all their lives. Remembering that Hook was indeed an ally – for the moment – she sighed a little-fairy-sized sigh, and answered his question. Again, the others listened, and it was Slightly who translated her words:

"The passage ends behind a tall cluster of stalagmites, at a curve that faces away from any light. The next entrance points toward northwest, nearly directly at Pirate's Cove. Aurora watched the wizard's servants and has found out that they have … how many catapults at the entrance?" he asked the rose-fairy, who answered. Even for untrained ears, her voice sounded different than Tink's. Slightly continued: "Four large catapults, loaded with pitch and rocks."

Nibs frowned and scratched his cheek, his mind working frantically at a plan. It wasn't for nothing that he was the planner of the Lost Boys. He lifted his head to look at Hook. "Depending on the position of the entrance, we might possibly be able to use your cannons, Captain."

The buccaneer shook his head. "I doubt it. The ship is unable to maneuver. Even if I had a free line of fire to his hideout, I would be completely out of my mind to risk the _Jolly Roger_, if I can't move her. I would rather blow her sky high with my own hand than let her fall into the hand of the enemy." The proud affection on his face for his ship was obvious. He carefully avoided becoming attached to any living soul – even if this was his biggest pretend as well – but he readily admitted that the mighty four-masted ship held his heart.

Nibs now rubbed his chin. "I know you can't move her. I was thinking more of a combined sea and land attack." The boy sketched his idea on the top of the table with his fingertip. "I know Long Tom is maneuverable on deck. If you use it to fire several shots in rapid succession, you could destroy the catapults, and immediately afterward you and your men can attack from the outside, and the rest of us from the inside. So then your crew can't be hurt by the catapults when you begin your sham attack, and losses on our side are reduced. You can then break through the enemy's lines, and we'll attack from behind, and together strike them with everything we've got – without the risk of the enemy turning the catapults toward the inside." He finished and sat back, watching Hook. Every head turned toward the captain.

Hook stared at the boy. His idea was … brilliant. And suddenly he remembered how he had defeated a protected town along the coast of Florida exactly like this. "By carbonate of soda," he murmured. "Sometimes we all can be blind." He was lost in thought, and didn't even see that all eyes were fixed upon him. "But that will require very careful timing. The weather prevents us from signaling the _Jolly Roger_. We have to time it to the exact moment. If the ship fires too early, the enemy will be warned, or we could die in the hail of our own cannons." He pursed his lips, his gaze fixed on the imaginary scene.

Aurora left the candle and stood in the air before his face, waving at him to get his attention. She chimed – and Tink's eyes grew wide as tiny saucers. Hook lifted one brow. "Do I understand you correctly? You want to act as messenger between ourselves and the ship? Between them and us we know are harpies, Alrinachs, storm and ice, as well as enemies we haven't encountered yet." The rose-fairy nodded and batted her chocolate-brown eyes at him, while she answered with sweet voice. The captain scoffed. "Do you really think that I'll leave the fate of my ship and my crew in those tiny hands of yours?"

Again the fairy batted her eyes, cocked her head and gave him a coy smile. Hook couldn't help himself and chuckled. "Are you flirting with me?"

Aurora shrugged gently and blew him a kiss, then looked challenging at him. After all, she wasn't blind and easily saw how attractive this man was. This time the buccaneer had to laugh before he addressed Tink. "You see, not all of your friends are so distrusting, Miss Bell."

Aurora jingled something and Hook frowned slightly. "You don't know what all I would dare, my dear!" Tinker Bell made a face and jingled something quietly. The pirate heard her anyway. "I am not the slightest bit like Pan!" he snapped, his mood changing. Fairies, Elves and boys -- even Smee -- started grinning. This didn't slip Hook's attention, and he balled his hand into a fist. "Don't you dare to compare me to that brat over there!"

Peter shifted into a more comfortable position on the chair and smiled broadly. "Really, Captain, my friends pay you a unique compliment, and you don't even see it!"

"Arrogant urchin!" the buccaneer-commander hissed. "Who do you think you are?"

"The best there ever was!"

Faced with so much conceit, Hook just stared.

Thalion leaned back on his chair and began to tick off on his fingers: "Perhaps we might tally our observations: both of you are very self-possessed, you both love a challenge, seek for adventure, refuse surrender, delight in a good fight, you're both quite vain and stubborn, and you both see the whole world as your own private playground." He looked at Peter and Hook, and teased: "Might as well be twins."

Hook glanced thunderstruck at him, then looked over at Smee, who seemed to be having a fit of some kind, but was just trying not to laugh out loud. The captain's fist hit the table-surface. "That is --"

"— the truth!" Giliath interrupted smartly, clearly amused. "Yes, boy and man, sky and sea, golden and black – but of one and the same heart. This bonds you to each other."

The captain pointed at Peter, who smirked cockily at the Elves. "The only thing that _bonds_ me to this cursed little pest is my overwhelming desire to kill him – and that in the most painful way possible!"

"Hate is a most powerful emotion," Giliath said softly. "Indeed, it draws one toward its object. Such is the case for the pair of you, quite a classic example, actually. Have you never heard the phrase 'most favored enemy'? Such is the case when you enjoy fighting someone because he is an equal. Like iron sharpens iron, you sharpen your skills against each other. You respect each other's prowess, you seek each other out. This is exactly what happens between you and Peter whenever you cross blades."

Thalion was nodding throughout the other's exposition. "Giliath speaks truth, Captain. Even I could relate many such experiences with this phenomenon – after more than three thousand years in our army."

The eternal boy looked quite satisfied, delighted to see Hook's growing uneasiness. "Well, to say the least: Without our Captain here, life would be quite boring in Neverland."

Said captain bestowed an icy smile on his tormenter, while he retorted sweetly: "Fear not, my boy. As soon as this whole situation is 'done for', I will make it my life's work to ensure that you aren't bored for a single minute. I'll make your life so interesting that you'll be even more exhausted than you were from the Alrinachs. And then I'll have you. Count on it!"

Peter only laughed: "I can hardly wait!"

Nibs had grown tired of this badinage. "Could we please get down to business?" he grumbled, and Giliath nodded.

"Quite true, young strategist," he commented, and hid a grin as he caught the irritated gaze from two pairs of blue eyes. "Tinker Bell?" She looked up at him. "How long is the passage from the Black Castle to S'Hadh's cave? How long would it take to reach it?"

"Two days, walking," Slightly translated

John thoughtfully tapped his chin (a perfect imitation of George Darling). "And from there to the opening that the _Jolly Roger_ shall fire toward?" he asked.

"Three hours," Peter murmured. "Three hours straight through the enemy's domain – without getting caught. No easy trek."

Hook nodded slowly. "Perhaps we shouldn't split up at all – except for the men who return to fire the cannons. We can use all the manpower we have, and the fewer we have, the greater the enemy's chance of driving us off in the end."

Thalion nodded. "Yes, I agree. If your ship is truly within range of the entrance, then this will create sufficient diversion from the outside. However, there is a chance that anyone attacking from the outside, Captain, could be injured from the flying rubble. We could use you and your pirates during our attack inside as well."

"And we can rightly assume that the enemy is already watching your ship," the Nibs added. "If they get the slightest suspicion that you're planning to attack, they will certainly open the fire on the _Jolly Roger_ before your men were in place, and that would not be helpful."

" 'Not be helpful'?" Hook repeated with hollow voice and mild horror, and gave Smee a signal to refill his goblet. "That would be catastrophic!"

"Along with that, there is some risk that the men who go back to the ship will be seen," John added. "S'Hadh's guards could become suspicious if they see only a few returning to the _Jolly Roger_."

"T'ey could carry barrels an' bundles from 'ere at t'e castle – like t'ey was re-stocking t'e ship," Smee suggested, and Hook made an impatient gesture as if to cut him off.

Then he hesitated. "Not a bad idea," he thought aloud. "Not a bad idea at all. Did you figure that out by yourself?

"Aye, Sir," the old Irishman nodded proudly, not realizing that Hook had mocked him – or he just simply ignored it.

"Right. Let's lay out the whole plan to prevent any misunderstanding," Thalion said and took a charred stick from the fire, drawing out the plan (in remarkable detail) on the wooden tabletop. "You, Captain, will send your best gunmen from here at the castle … to your ship now waiting in the cove. They will await our signal to fire, like so. That will be our signal to attack … here … from the inside. We will have to arrange the timing when the details become clearer."

Agreeable murmurs came all round, and Hook sipped at his wine, looking thoughtfully at the drawing before continuing: "If we assume that they'll watch my ship more carefully now, they might send harpies and Alrinachs to the _Jolly Roger_. I'll give clear instructions to the men how to fight them, and how they can protect themselves."

"What about Wendy?" Peter asked suddenly. "I don't want to take her with us down there," he tapped the drawing, indicating the catacombs and the subterranean caves and passages.

"Our little madcap can take care of herself, including swinging a sword," the pirate-captain grumbled. "You should have seen her on the beach when she first got here, or how she finished off the harpy that tried to kill me. She fights quite well – for a girl," he added shortly, and groaned inwardly. Had he just complimented her _again_? He really must watch his tongue! How could his men respect or fear him anymore – protecting and admiring someone who had given him nothing but trouble? Someone he had sworn a vendetta against? But, she _had _saved his life ...

"I know all that, I'm the one who taught her," the boy responded, worry in his eyes. "But I don't want her in the middle of harpies, Goblins, black dwarfs and whatever else S'Hadh is using, and her fighting for her life." Peter took a deep breath. The time had come for the unthinkable, when he had to ask _Hook_ for a favor, but Wendy's life was at stake here, pride be damned! He cleared his throat and bit his lips, before he fixed his gaze at the buccaneer. "Would … would you let her … let her stay on the _Jolly Roger_?"

Hook's eyes were unbelieving. "You … you would put her under _my_ protection?" he asked, hardly believing his own ears. There were three possibilities: Either the boy had completely forgotten they were enemies, had gone insane, for pity's sake, or he was that unbelievably desperate keep the girl safe. And the last possibility was the most likely and most shocking for the pirate-captain. The boy _did_ care – quite a lot! Alas, the girl had either changed Peter's heart, or he possessed this trait before, but never shown it until now.

"Not under your protection so much as your ship's," Peter corrected. "It would be a lot safer there than in the middle of a battle."

Hook pursed his lips, considering. Yes, Wendy would be safer aboard. And, he admitted to himself, he wanted her out of danger as well. '_After all she owes you a great deal, and how shall she pay it, if she dies before you're done with her?' _the pirate in him said. _'Oh absolutely, but first -- you want to make certain that she is SAFE,_' the other part sneered_. 'If you really only wanted revenge, you could do it just as well if she's injured. But no-o-o-o, the mere thought of her being hurt brings out the protector in you.' _

'_Does not!' _

'_Does!' _

'_Does NOT!' _

'_DOES!' _

"Captain?" Peter asked, growing uneasy under the blank scowl of the man, who seemed to wake up as the boy spoke again.

Hook blinked, then cleared his throat, rapidly collecting his thoughts, mask back in place. "Not my concern," he waved him off nonchalantly, sipping the wine. "Do as you like. If you're convinced that our storyteller would be better off aboard, she may go to the ship."

"NO!"

All of them turned as one and saw Wendy in the doorway, wearing only the well-used nightgown. She had her arms folded, and looked at Peter with flashing eyes. "I am coming with you!"

Peter rose. "Wendy, it's too dangerous. On the ship, you would be--"

"-- among pirates, one of whom is eager to kill me, and the another who always looks at me as if I'm made of toffee!"

The eternal boy went to her, ignoring the sleepy protests from the makeshift beds near the fireplace. "If – no, _when_ we meet S'Hadh's allies, it will be more dangerous than the fight with just the harpies. I probably couldn't even help you, and--"

"You wouldn't have to, Peter. Just defeat S'Hadh. Don't worry about me."

Peter shoved his fists in his hips. "Too bad – I do worry about you! You can fight: yes. You're braver than any girl I've ever met: yes. You have no fear: yes. But you're still a girl and you aren't as strong as a boy!"

Peter's admission that he worried about her sent a wave of warmth through Wendy. But she wasn't about to give in. She would go with them, even if it were the last thing she would do with her life. The mere though of being separated from them, not knowing what was happening to him, her brothers and friends, the Elves and Ho-- _Whoa – too far!_

'_Don't fool yourself, Wendy!' _she thought._ 'You're worried about him as well. He has shown you another side of himself, a side you always wished he had. And he saved your life twice and protected you against Cookson. He has a piece of your heart – and not in a vengeful manner, but in a gentle way you never expected. Not after your history together. And you don't want him hurt, or, worse, killed. Sitting on that ship and waiting for their return – or failure to return – would drive you crazy!'_

Taking a deep breath she pointed at the little bundles in front of the fire-place. "Michael and the twins are smaller than you and the others, but they're going with you!"

Peter sighed. "I can better concentrate on S'Hadh if I know you're safe," he almost pled with her.

Wendy looked into his eyes, trying to convey all her thoughts and feelings. "And what will happen if you don't make it? If S'Hadh wins, and Neverland is lost? The _Jolly Roger_ will be crushed in the ice, everyone aboard will freeze to death or starve or die from foul creatures. No! If we don't win this fight, it's better to die fighting for the people I love and the things I believe in than just suffer and die later!"

"Spoken like a man!" Smee said, amazed, with new respect in his old eyes.

"Peter is right!" Hook said, surprising everyone. "This is too dangerous for you!" He saw the boys and his bos'um gaping at him, and moaned inwardly. _'Are you now satisfied? Have you finally managed it to expose yourself to ridicule? _Revenge without mercy_, you said. Hah! Really, James, will anyone believe any of your threats after this?'_

Wendy walked around Peter and faced the pirate-captain; her blue eyes fixed on his. " 'Too dangerous' with Cookson and Albino aboard, too?"

Hook shook his head. "Cookson will remain with the landing party that will accompany the Elves and the boys. As far as Albino is concerned, I'll make sure that he doesn't come near you." He leaned his arms on the table and lifted both brows. "Think about it. You'll be safer aboard and definitely more comfortable."

"I know it isn't _proper_ for a girl to go into battle, but--"

"Since when do you care what is _proper_ for a girl?" the buccaneer mocked softly; an amused spark danced suddenly in his eyes.

Wendy folded her arms again and lifted one arched brow. "Since I am no longer associated with pirates – or their commander."

Hook started to chuckle. "Touché, child."

"Wendy?" Peter hesitantly lay a hand on her shoulder. "Please don't. I…" He swallowed and blurted out his next words so quickly that Wendy barely understood them. "I-don't-want-anything-bad-to-happen-to-you!"

The girl's eyes widened, while Hook thoughtfully pursed his lips. Wendy took a deep breath. "You now understand what's in MY mind and heart. We both know how S'Hadh is attacking you. I've seen in it in the last two days. You grow weaker the nearer you come to him. I can help you, Peter. Staying on the ship, without knowing what is happening to all of you, will kill me anyway."

Her pleading look pierced him, and the boy bit his lips. "We have more than two dozen Elves, more than sixty pirates and all of the boys, and none fear death or devil. Look at them, Wendy, I have the best bodyguard in the world," he tried again.

"Wendy?" Giliath added. "I speak straightforwardly when I say that I would feel better as well if you were out of danger – at least, as far as possible regarding this present situation. I would also ask that the three smallest would accompany you – your brother Michael and the Twins. You are right to say they are too small, and should not face the deadly confrontation ahead of us. And they will need their older sister to reassure for them, to care for them. They are brave, but do you truly desire them to be alone among strange men on a strange ship?"

Wendy stared at him. "That's not fair, Giliath!"

"But realistic!" Hook said calmly. "The possibility is great that those three little urchins would be hurt or killed. And you're responsible for them. You're a fighter – a leader – even if you're a girl. Now prove that you can act as the eldest of the four."

The girl straightened her shoulders, proudly lifting her head. "You don't have to remind me of my duties as their elder sister, Captain!" she stated, eyes flashing. "My mother taught me those from the very beginning when John and Michael were born, and taught me well!" She ignored Hook's glare, not caring what he allowed and didn't allow. After all, she was no member of his crew.

"If your mother taught you so well, then do it!" he said stiffly, but Wendy didn't back off.

"I'll tell the three to accompany your gunmen back to the ship, and to behave. They will not be any trouble. But, for my part, I go with Peter!"

Hook sighed, grimacing. "There's the proof: Love and wisdom are seldom found in the same female!"

Wendy blushed fiercely. "What do you know about _love_?" she demanded, unthinking.

Hook started, and his eyes narrowed to flashing slits. Her words had hit him; hard. "Enough to know when I'm looking at it," he shot back. "It typically induces idiotic behavior – exactly the kind you are displaying now!"

Wendy gasped, not the slightest bit afraid of his dark expression. "If you believe that loyalty is foolish behavior, Captain Hook, then it's no wonder that you--"

She would have said more, but Peter's hand clamped over her mouth, and his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her away from the argument. He knew their temperaments well enough. If he didn't stop them both immediately, disaster would surely strike. "Excuse us a moment!" he said over his shoulder to a red-faced pirate-captain who was almost over the edge, and dragged her along with him to a corner on the other side of the room.

Wendy struggled to break free, but her friend was too strong. "Wendy! Stop it! Be reasonable--" he began when he let her go, and earned a furious glare.

"How dare you?" she hissed. "And how dare you speak of 'reasonable'! You don't even know what it means!"

The eternal boy fumed at her. "Do too! And I know when to call a retreat. And until now, I thought you knew when, too." He scratched his head, his mood quelling. "What's got into you?"

Wendy rubbed her eyes to prevent the threatening tears from escaping. "I… I'm afraid for you!" she whispered. "This … this accursed wizard is so … so powerful. And his creatures … oh Peter, reading about them is one thing, but meeting them is entirely different! And even if you have an entire army around you of the best warriors possible, you could still get hurt… or k-k-killed." She bit her lips to keep from bursting into tears.

Peter lowered his head. "I know. And you know what would help me fight better? Knowing you're safe." He saw the hurt in her eyes and sighed. "I'll be careful; I promise. And I'll come back for you. After all, I can't let you stay aboard a pirate-ship … Red-handed Jill."

Wendy giggled around a muffled sob, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She was dreadfully afraid for Peter – and for her brother and the others. And – she couldn't deny it! – for Hook as well. Hook … she had offended him, had hurt him; she knew that, and her conscience smote her with it. She swore to herself that she would beg his pardon. "You'll come for me?" she asked in a small voice, her resolve crumbling.

The Prince of Neverland nodded. "Do you remember what I told you when I left the first time? After I took you home … to London?"

The girl smiled weakly, while another tear dropped from her long lashes: "'Me? Forget? Never!' "

Peter smiled and caught the tear as it fell from her chin. It burned in his hand, and as he looked on it, it glistened in his palm. "And this is my oath to you. I will _never_ forget that you're waiting for me." He closed his fingers over the tear, and when he opened it again, it was a single pearl.

Wendy gasped and stared at Peter, who looked no less thunderstruck. "How…?" they both began, and felt a glance. They looked over to the table and met Giliath's nearly imperceptible nod. Then he turned back to the others.

"How did he do that?" Wendy whispered.

"He's an Elf," Peter murmured. "They can make special things happen." He tore a leaf from his trouser, formed a little sack out of it and slipped the pearl into it. "Wait a moment," he said, and he loosened the vines around his left arm, parted them into two thin ones and used one of them to close the little sack and to hang it around his neck. The other half he re-wound around his arm. "I swear I'll return your tear – after we've sent S'Hadh back to hell!"

Wendy, at a loss for words, simply leaned over to him and gave him a sweet, chaste kiss. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, then Peter grinned broadly, while blushing from head to toe. Laughing, he lifted her into the air, and shouted: "One more thimble and I swear S'Hadh can play all the tricks he wants! I'll never feel tired again – not after that!"

Wendy squeaked, finding herself lifted off the floor – and started to laugh. "Peter Pan, set me down!" she giggled, and the boy obeyed, after he had swung her around. For – was it only seconds? – they looked at each other. Then Peter glanced down at his bare feet (which were suddenly very interesting), and Wendy was examining the painting on the wall next to her with great interest.

"Well," the boy began, "so you'll go to the _Jolly Roger_?"

With a sigh full of regret, the girl nodded. "Aye!"

Peter breathed deeply with relief. "Thank you. I ... I'll … feel better if you do."

Her hand gently touched his, and she could feel a shiver run through him as he fought the impulse to draw back. "Be careful. Promise?"

"Promise," he murmured, and suddenly his fingers closed around hers. "Come on, we have to talk to Hook."

Wendy bit her lower lip. "And I have to ask his pardon."

Peter lifted both brows. "Why?"

"I hurt him," she said quietly, glancing shyly toward the pirate-captain, who was speaking with Thalion. He seemed calm, but she knew him well enough to know he was still angered by her words.

Breathing deeply, she followed Peter back to the table, and faced the man, as Peter asked: "Does your offer still stand, Captain?"

Hook glanced at him and then at the girl, lifting both brows. "So Milady has decided to skip the mulish behavior and to consider my offer?" Goddamn, he had almost started to trust this cursed little bitch, and what did she do? She attacked him again; but this time not with actions, but with words. Did she really see him as a creature without feelings besides bitterness and hate? Did she see in him something like … a monster? He had thought, after her reaction to the sight his humiliated arm, that she saw more in him, but obviously he had been mistaken. He had decided that he would never again --

Wendy nervously let go of Peter's hand, and moved to face Hook. She could see that he was indeed irritated – to say the least. She knew that he surely _was_ capable of other feelings besides hate, and she had denied it in a cruel, mocking manner. What did she know about his past? There were guesses, but that was all. He might have known love and lost it to a rival; or his dearest had died, or been taken from him; or his love had been unrequited. Beside the fact that he was Peter's enemy and ruled, more or less, the seas around Neverland, she knew practically nothing about the real man. The only thing she was sure of was that she had hurt him with her remarks, and she wanted to make up – and do it as soon as possible. After the last two days and their talk together, even sharing a laugh at Smee's expense, she longed to maintain this fragile beginning of understanding. "I am sorry, Captain," she said softly. "I … I am so afraid for all of you that I lost my tongue. And my temper. I … I was quite wrong to say what I said."

Hook leaned back in his chair and folded his arms; ignoring the tenderness of his right side. Wordlessly he cocked his head and waited; his gaze hard.

"I … I was – and still I am – quite confused and want nothing more than this whole miserable business to be over soon, and all of us safe again. And I mean every one of us." She lowered her gaze and her hand touched shyly his unharmed shoulder. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Captain. I am really sorry for my thoughtless and hurtful words, and I do apologize."

Hook took a deep breath, speaking quite lazily. "Little twit. What makes you think you hurt me? They were only the silly words of a silly little girl. Do you honestly believe that your words could hurt me? You think too highly of yourself."

Wendy bit her lips, and looked up at him under her eyelashes. "I think that was a payback," she said in a small voice.

"Damn straight!" he snorted – and rolled his eyes. Hadn't he JUST sworn to himself that he wouldn't reveal that she had hurt him? Yes – and he had done a bloody good job keeping THAT promise!

He sighed and suddenly slumped. None of this was important, he realized at last. What had just happened here? His storyteller was tired – no, exhausted – and had over-reacted; something he knew from firsthand experience, and… Wait a moment! _His_ storyteller? Had he finally lost his mind?

Groaning inwardly, he looked at her more closely, and seeing her pale face and tear track, he felt his anger vanishing. She wasn't normally rude, and he knew that she hadn't thought to hurt anyone. She hadn't been thinking at all, and blurted out the first thing that came to her tongue. And even if he didn't allow anyone else such liberty, he felt that he couldn't stay angry with this girl for it. He didn't know why, but somehow Wendy managed over and over again to get out of his tight spots, and to pacify him enough to prevent his urge to simply twist her slender neck. He had killed men for far less than what the girl had said minutes ago, but it didn't matter at the moment.

And he didn't dare consider the reason _why_ he thought this way.

He took a sip from his goblet and glanced toward her again. "To lash out at someone who is not at fault is not really fair, don't you think?" She nodded silently; her large reddened eyes almost pleading with him. "Females with fire are tempting," he continued, "but they should know when to contain their temper."

Wendy heard his tone softening now, no longer covering hidden anger, and dared a shy smile. "I think I should follow your example then."

He stared at her – and had to laugh. "Touché again, little one! Not only is your sword quick; your tongue is, too." Her smile widened and he recognized relief on her ashen face. And, to his horror, it touched him – _again_.

"You aren't angry with me?" she asked in a small voice full of hope, and he momentarily wondered why it was so damn important for her. Certainly it hadn't anything to do with caring for him, ah, no, but a lasting fear of him.

He shook his head, taking another deep breath. By the sirens of the Seven Seas: She had done it again! She had turned his irritation into amusement! But he wouldn't let her off the hook (so to speak) THAT easily. "Shall we number all the things you've done to deliberately irritate me, little madcap? The list is probably long enough to wrap the whole of Neverland in it." Amazed, he realized that he was more amused than angry.

"What have I done?" she asked quietly, and earned a snort from him.

"If I cataloged them all, the night would be over. And you look as if you need a proper beauty sleep. But, more to the point, I should start by laying you over my knee and giving you a proper spanking like I did with Mr. Pretentious there beside you."

The other boys around the table and the fairies all gasped and stared at first at the pirate-captain, and then at their leader and friend, cheeks reddened. "HOOK!" he moaned. "Do you have to tell them that?"

A broad grin appeared on the man's handsome face. "Oh, you didn't want me to tell your friends? I'm sorry, boy. I'm really a chatterbox!" His voice was full of mockery.

Wendy balled her small hands into fists. "Why must you embarrass everyone?"

Hook put on a shocked face. "Me? Never, beauty! After all, I am not like that rascal you're so fond of." He grinned again. "On the other hand, it's always a good idea to pull someone back to earth whose head is in the clouds. But you're right. Normally it would be you who had to be brought down. But, after all, I am too much a gallant gentleman to embarrass a young lady."

"Oh yes," Wendy growled. "I've heard everything now!"

Nibs, John and Slightly still stared at their friend, whose face was still the color of a tomato.

"Peter?" Slightly started, and the eternal boy interrupted him.

"Not one word about it, any of you!" He scowled, his gaze fixed on his grinning nemesis. "Hook filled me up with grog to 'warm' me up, he said, and then spanked me. And he'll pay for it! I promise!" It wasn't clear to whom he spoke now: his friends or the pirate.

Hook smiled like a wolf. "I am really curious as to how you'll manage that!"

"You'll see!" Peter growled.

The other three boys looked at each other, and then at the fairies. Yes, there would be consequences, no doubt about it.

The buccaneer's gaze now slid away from an enraged Peter Pan toward an indignant Wendy. Her pale face was flushed now, and her tired eyes shot daggers at him. He chuckled. She was a sight when she was angry! "So, it is agreed. You and your brother and the other two mites will stay aboard the _Jolly Roger_. Cecco will take care of you, and I advise you to listen and to obey his commands. Aboard, you and the three gnomes will be allowed to roam freely, as long as you don't get into the way of my men. After all, they have an important job to do, and have no time for silly games with pipsqueaks."

Wendy lifted a brow, her face still angry. "With all respect due, Captain, I am not a pipsqueak." Hook looked her up and down appraisingly, and she didn't know why she started to blush suddenly.

A smile played around his well-shaped lips, while a gentle expression lingered in his forget-me-not-blue eyes. "You're right," he answered softly. "You really aren't a pipsqueak anymore, little lady!" He chuckled again when he saw the red creeping toward her hairline. She indeed was delightful when she turned crimson like this. "Smee?" he addressed his boatswain, whose grin mirrored the captain's. "Send Cecco to me tomorrow. I'll give him instructions about our 'guests'. And afterward I want to talk to Albino."

Smee nodded and emptied his goblet, only to refill it immediately; ignoring another glare from his commander.

Shaking his head, Hook looked again at Wendy, weighing his thoughts for a moment, and said finally: "Seeing as you're nearly a young lady, I can't bunk you in the crew's quarters. You can sleep in my cabin, as long as you don't touch anything. I am quite particular when it comes up to my private things. The door has a lock, and I have a ready room that doubles as a water closet. Cecco will show it to you. More I can't offer you."

Wendy gave him a shining smile. "Thank you," she whispered. "That is most generous."

"I know!"

"And he calls me arrogant," Peter grumbled, but no one replied this time.

"If you like, you can use my library as well. I have several books you might find interesting. You also can use some of my parchments to write your stories. I am certain that you want to distract yourself from the fact that our firebrand rides for all."

Wendy nodded and took Peter's hand. She didn't want to think about the fact that this could be her last hours with him. The chance that he and the others would be killed were high.

And that would change the world.

"Tomorrow will be difficult," Hook continued. "So I think it would be the best if you went to bed now, my dear." Compassion and something else woke in him as he saw the concern in her face and the grip she held the boy's hand with. She really was fond of him. Of course, he had seen her giving Peter the kiss – or the 'thimble', as they called it – and the same emotion that had flashed through him in that awful moment started to burn again. At last, he realized what it was: Jealously. Brimstone and gall! How could he be jealous of a girl's affection for a boy? And, _why_ was he jealous? She meant nothing to him!

'_Liar!'_ his inner voice whispered to him, and with a growl he took his goblet. "Good night!" he said harshly, and recognized after several seconds that she remained beside his chair.

"You're still angry," she said quietly, and the pirate-captain glanced up at her.

He sighed deeply. "No, child. It has nothing to do with you."

She bit her lips. "Really?"

Hook rolled his eyes again – almost a dozen times in the last few minutes! "Yes!"

Morning seemed to break on her face, and she pressed his hand. "Thank you and – good night!"

Peter grinned at her. "I'll be there soon. Good night!"

Wendy waved at the Elves, who nodded kindly toward her, then to the two fairies, who waved back, and walked back to the bedroom.

No one saw her hidden tears, for she wanted wear a brave face. But deep inside, it looked otherwise. The thought of being apart from them all pained her, and she doubted that she would find any more sleep that night. But sliding under the blankets and comforter, upon the soft mattress, and in the dim golden light of the fireplace, she was lulled to sleep.

She didn't even notice the bed bounce slightly, already asleep as Peter snuggled into the blankets beside her.

-----------------------------------------------------

And somewhere, beneath the island, little feet and hands with long claws searched their way through the darkness, heading toward the castle – hungry and greedy for blood – while restless, unforgiven souls deep beneath the sheltering walls waited for midnight to come…

TBC…


	20. Further NightDisturbances

**Chapter 19 – Further Night-Disturbances**

If the allies thought that they would find a proper sleep after that, they were sadly mistaken. Peter was tormented by a nightmare – more eerie and distressing than before. Wendy did her best to calm the boy, who whimpered and cried in his sleep, but found it impossible to wake him. He seemed imprisoned within a dark, frightening world that only he could see and hear. Finally, some time after midnight, Wendy had had enough, and decided to summon Giliath. She knew that his Elfish talents could help her friend so that both of them could get a little rest they sorely needed.

As she drew back the covers and prepared to slide out of bed, she heard a strange soft keening in the room, which definitely did not come from Peter! Instinctively, Wendy scooted back toward her friend, drawing the blanket to her chest. The high, wordless, terrifying cry seemed to come from the walls, and heart thumping, the girl peered about the darkened room, but saw no one. The fire had burned now, and it occurred to her that if she threw more wood on it, she would have more light – and more heat, because it suddenly seemed to be very cold – but she didn't dare leave Peter's side. The sound came again, and this time, she looked up.

Her breath caught in her throat as saw the white apparition hovering directly under the ceiling. It moved in an unnatural manner, like a silk scarf in a stream, and slowly descended toward her and Peter. Long arms like tendrils stretched toward the boy.

Wendy looked over at her friend, who had started to toss and shiver, and his face grew pale as its expression grew horrified. Shapeless fingers reached for him. Suddenly, the girl threw herself over Peter, and struck out at the spectral hand, but her fingers passed through what felt like ice water. "Leave him alone!" she yelled – or meant to yell, but what came out of her was only a whisper. Her throat wouldn't constrict around the words. She tried to shake him awake. "Peter? Peter, wake up!" But the eternal boy didn't open his eyes. Still whimpering, he struggled under her, and Wendy had trouble holding him. Then the apparition touched his temple, and Peter sobbed. Quickly the girl dragged her friend into her lap, pulling him away from the eerie thing. "Be gone with you!" she hissed and wrapped both arms around Peter, pressing herself again the headboard. The boy began to push against her, fighting her protective arms, and Wendy tightened her grip around him.

The creature above her started to laugh – a low hollow sound so different from the keening, but no sound made by moist flesh – and descended across the two children. An icy chill suddenly surrounded them, piercing every nerve, intruding into Wendy's mouth, paralyzing her call for help. She pulled Peter even closer, trying to enclose him, trying desperately to shield him from the ghost. She would surrender herself to this horrid thing before she would deliver Peter to this apparition!

"Sssssuch a pretty boyyyyy!"

She barely understood the words while the ghost stretched its shapeless arm toward Peter and something like a hand extended. Again, Wendy struck at it, tucking herself more firmly about her friend. "Don't you dare touch him!" she said hoarsely, her throat burning. The arctic temperature was murderous, freezing even her voice.

The apparition laughed again, this time almost gently. "He belongs to usssss … to him! You can't ssssstop it anymore!"

Wendy was so cold that tears formed in her eyes. As one rolled over her cheek, it froze. She shivered uncontrollably, but still she held on to her friend. "Peter Pan is free! No one can catch him. No one will take him! Not even you!" Her breath hung in the air before her blue lips.

The ghost laughed again – no longer gentle, but harsh and threatening, piercingly evil. The girl ignored the pain she felt all over from the cold. Collecting all her strength, she took a deep, painfully icy breath and let out a high-pitched scream, which broadcast throughout the whole castle. Wendy felt like someone had shoved a knife down her throat, but with the fiery will of a female forced to fight for a loved one, she shoved Peter onto the mattress beside her and curled around him. Instantly, she felt the chill sharpen, and a dangerous pressure on her back – a weight that threatened to break her. From behind her eyelids, she saw white shadows flying out from an abyss, clutching for her. A ululating cry from that pit grew louder and louder, and everything in the terrified girl urged her to flee, so that she wouldn't have to see this world the ghost was forcing her to behold. The pain from the cold was so debilitating that she couldn't think anymore. In panic, she screamed again, trying to draw this liquid cold into her paralyzed lungs, while the white shapes surrounded her mind and dragged her toward the darkness.

Suddenly the pressure on her back vanished, the pictures assaulting her mind dissolved and the wailing of the ghost was drowned out by many strong harmonious voices chanting in a strangely familiar language. The chorus grew stronger and stronger, intensified, and finally reached her clouded mind. Simultaneously, the cold grew less and she found she could breathe again. Even though painful, Wendy took several deep breaths.

A warm, strong hand took her upper arm and pulled her firmly up. Trembling, she looked up and saw Hook's pale face, his eyes flashing. "Get up!" he ordered, and pulled her toward the edge of the bed on which she was curled around Peter. Any movement was difficult, but Wendy tried her best to obey and crept slowly toward him. Her body protested, drawing a whimper from her. Her hands hurt, and her legs didn't moved the way she wanted, but move she did. "Hurry!" the buccaneer urged. Pushing her aside, he bent forward and dragged the boy to himself, wrapped his left arm around the child's waist, then tossed him to his shoulder.

The golden trail of dust beside him proved Tinker Bell had arrived as well, quite beside herself. Behind Hook, Wendy made out almost a dozen Elves, holding hands, eyes upward, chanting in their own language, their gazes fixed on the intruder, Giliath and Thalion between them. As muzzy as she was, Wendy could tell that that the Elves were trying to banish the ghost, and Hook was taking her and Peter to safety.

She tried to sit up but her nightgown was stiff with a thick layer of ice, her eyelashes and hair coated in hoarfrost. Hook rose, and she saw him shivering as well -- no wonder, since he only wore his breeches. He offered her his right arm, which she clung at the elbow, and he pulled her to her feet. Wendy gasped. The floor was painfully cold on bare feet, feeling instead like fire instead of rime. "Let go!" Hook's voice was loud in her ear over the chant of the Elves to the writhing spirit above. When Wendy released his arm, he crouched beside her, wrapped his right arm around her and lifted her as well.

"Begone from here!" Giliath cried hoarsely, as if he had to force himself to speak. Wendy saw a soft glow around the Elves, like a golden halo, giving them the appearance of warriors from heaven. The light increased, driving back the darkness, warming the air. The halo broadened toward the apparition that now howled like a banshee, and writhed along the ceiling, but the Elves' magic was stronger.

Wendy saw this as Hook darted from the room with her and Peter, elbowed his way through the chafed boys and his curious sailors, and strode to his private suite. Tink followed him, eyeing the two children with a little concern. The girl saw several other warriors standing in a half circle in the dining room, armed with their curved swords, the rose-fairy between them.

"Smee?" the pirate-captain shouted huskily over his shoulder, "follow me. The other ones are supporting Thalion's warriors!" He didn't await the bo'sun's response, but hasted into his bedroom, knelt before the fireplace where a mighty fire was burning, and put the two children down on the fur. "Are you all right?" he panted, (vaguely wondering just how often he had asked the girl that same question these last few days).

Wendy saw the fury in his face, but knew he wasn't angry with them. She tried to answer, but her teeth were chattering too violently. "Cap'n?" Smee said from the doorway. He wore only his trousers and an old shirt, and his grey hair seemed to stand in all directions.

"Fetch some rum and several blankets!" Hook ordered, without looking up, and the old man scuffled away. The pirate-captain appraised the girl, who was blue with the cold, and shivering like a taut rope in a gale, while beside them Peter moaned softly. "Take off that gown!" he commanded and rose quickly.

Her mind almost as stiff as her clothes, she glanced at him uncomprehendingly. "W-w-what…?" she croaked.

Hook moved quickly to the wardrobe and pulled out a long white woolen shirt. "Take off that nightgown!" he repeated. "It's stiff with ice!" As he returned and knelt down in front of the girl, she tried – with little success – to open the buttons of her gown with fingers stiffened by the cold, while Tink tried to help her.

Hook watched the effort impatiently, then took the job in hand – literally. Waving the fairy aside, he twirled the front of the gown around his stump and took the back collar in his hand and tore the sorry thing off of her. It fell with a rattle of ice beside her. Wendy gasped, shocked, and even half frozen, began a blush all over. Even Tink pressed a tiny hand on her lips. How crude this pirate was!

"How dare you?" a young voice demanded behind them, which Hook recognized as her brother John. Of course! The boy seemed to slip into the role of her protector whenever Peter wasn't around

"I dare it to prevent your sister from getting frostbite!" he snapped back, shaking out the shirt and helping her to slip it on. "Smee, blankets!" he called loudly, then turned his attention to Peter, who dizzily looked up to him. "You sleep like a bear in winter, boy!" he growled. "You'll oversleep your own burial someday!"

Peter moaned helplessly, echoes of the horrible nightmares still in his mind. Disoriented, he glanced around him. He was in a different room, in front of a roaring fire. He lay on thick fur and Tink nervously stood in the air before him. Beside him knelt a half-naked Hook, helping a fiercely blushing Wendy into a strange shirt. From far away a chorus seemed to be chanting – warm voices singing a strange sweet melody, occasionally a shrill, furious howling. What had happened? "What's going on?" he asked hoarsely, and felt his throat scratching.

"A specter came to make you part of his world, and our beauty here threw herself between you and it, and screamed loud enough to shake the castle awake. Only you, you dunderhead, remained oblivious." He helped Wendy to lace the thick batiste-shirt. The girl didn't dare lift her gaze – quivering with embarrassment as well as cold. "Your Elf friends are fighting it now, before it turns the castle into an ice-palace."

Clumsily, Peter sat up and looked at the girl and saw her lips were blue, her hair was damp from melting ice, and she trembled like a leaf in the wind. He longed to stroke one finger over her cheek, which would surely burn his cold hand with its embarrassed blush. In a moment of uncharacteristic daring, he had captured a glimpse of the sweet bare body before the pirate-captain pulled the shirt about her, to cover her properly. "Are you hurt?" Peter asked, and Wendy shook her head, which she still kept lowered.

Hook sighed, rose and moved to his vanity where his harness lay. "You should forego such modesty, child. Regrettably, you're too young for me," he smirked. Tink shoved her little fists into her waist, and jingled something about 'pirate arrogance' and 'men,' which made him grin for a moment.

Furious, John marched toward Hook, but was stopped by Peter's hand on his arm. "Don't!" he coughed. "I think he saved Wendy and me – again!"

"And don't forget it!" the buccaneer growled. "Your bill is growing longer, boy!"

It was then that Smee returned, pushed himself through the boys who clustered about the doorway, throwing two blankets at Peter and Wendy. " 'Ere, wrap y'sel's!" then to his commander, "You, too, Sir."

Hook would have loved to do this – he was freezing – but new pandemonium broke loose in the dining room. Slightly ran from the bedroom door – and returned a moment later, white as a sheet. "There … there are more ghosts … at the ceiling!" he gasped. The sight of the unnatural shapes at the ceiling had scared him more than he dared admit. Hook cursed savagely, and finished putting on his harness, Smee helping him.

Peter looked up sleepily from the fur. "You have ghosts in the castle?" he asked curiously. "Sounds like fun! If I'd known, I would've visited sooner!"

Hook just glared. "A bit more serious than that, boy. These 'ghosts' are deadly. And no, I didn't know about them until now!"

Peter looked over at the boys, still clamoring to each other. "Did I say something wrong?" Slightly and Tootles shook their heads, and the eternal boy made a face toward Hook, who threw him another glare.

From the other room, the pandemonium grew louder, the pirates clearly panicking. "I hate having to depend on others!" Hook snarled and raised his voice to drown out his men. "Giliath? Could you continue your singing-lesson in the dining-room?" he yelled, pulling on a heavy shirt. He then looked hard at the children -- "You -- stay here!" -- then at Peter,  
who had started to get up -- "That includes you too, boy! That girl didn't risk her life and nearly freeze to death just so you could waltz to your doom before your time!"

He strode to the door, and the boys nearly fell over one another getting out of the way. Behind them a tall Elfish warrior appeared, ducking to fit under the doorframe. "_Si dartho, Nikerym_ - stay here, Captain! Mortals are ineffective against these restless souls!"

Hook opened his mouth to retort, but the Elf had already vanished. Frustrated he slammed his hook into the wooden frame, creating a deep scar. "Nothing I hate more than taking orders within my own walls!" he hissed. He met Smee's old eyes, oddly compassionate. He paused, and looked around. There were the Lost Boys – clearly scared, there were John and Michael, hugging each other, there were Peter and Wendy, crouching together on the fur, Tink darting back and forth in front of them. How had it happened that he had again become the nanny for these miserable children?

From the adjacent room, the strong chorus of the Elves now rose, while the pirates grew silent. Even so … something was wrong. The pirate-captain felt a gnawing about his senses that spoke of danger approaching, an intuition that had saved his life many times – and one quick look at Peter proved he felt the same. Something was coming … with quick small steps.

The mighty chant of the Elves from both rooms nearly drowned out the noise, but it was there, behind the song. Hook frowned, returned to his vanity and took his pistol, checked if the weapon was loaded, and clamped it into his hook. Then he took the long dagger lying beside the pistol, while Smee drew his cutlass and the boys drew their own swords – for they all grabbed them as they fled from the dining room.

Peter rose, still a little bit shaken, and reached for his knife, only to find it gone. And then he remembered that he put it on the nightstand before he went to bed. Crayfish and calamite! A lot of good it was doing him there!

The pirate-captain saw that the boy was unarmed, and threw him his dagger, which Peter caught easily. The boy nodded his thanks to his nemesis, who nodded back – a silent understanding between two comrades-in-arms – and Hook pulled out a man-sized sword from underneath the bed.

Peter looked about, feeling the danger coming, the tension growing, while an eerie feeling awoke in his own belly, causing the hairs of his neck to prickle. Something was indeed wrong! He glanced at Wendy. "Stay there!" he ordered quietly, and signaled his friends. They immediately lined up in defensive posture about Wendy, including the two pirates. Hook lifted a brow, but said nothing. The tapping sounds grew louder, came nearer, now piercing, clamoring, and suddenly – out of nowhere – dozens of small, knee-high figures came out of the shadows, the cracks in the walls, pouring through the half open door and even jumping from behind the fire in the fire-place, bypassed a shrilly ringing fairy and a screaming Wendy, who ducked, arms over her head.

"What the devil…" Hook stared baffled by the intruders. They were spindly little men, wearing iron boots, old trousers and doublets -- all bearded, eyes glinting ember-red like the fire of hell. On their heads they wore little caps, their color varying from dark red to ash-grey. The most unnatural thing about them were the hands at the ends of the long arms. The fingers were almost as long as the forearms, and ended in talons, which scratched the stones they ran on – the strange tapping noise the allies had heard. The intruders carried little halberds and stone-knives lifted, while they exposed their teeth – every single one of them sharpened.

Hook and Peter looked at the small trespassers and exchanged a glance. What were those creatures? The boy examined the closest one and met its glare, feeling a little sick at the sight of so much evil and bloodlust. The little men paused, eyeing the children and the two men, giggled piercingly, exchanged a few words in a raspy language and rubbed their sharp teeth together with a disgusting sound. Suddenly, the small intruders moved forward as one, full of determination.

"Redcaps!" Smee's shouted, and from one second to the next, life seemed to explode in the old Irishman. The pause of the enemy had given him the time to collect his thoughts – and his memories. With two long strides, he was by his commander. He shoved him protectively behind him, swung his cutlass and started to recite words which he thought he had forgotten long ago: "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures…" The first bogeys screeched and fled. Three others were cut in twain by Smee's cutlass, while he continued the holy words: "He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul…"

Hook shook off his amazement, lifted his own sword and attacked with a war-cry. This was the signal for the boys, who joined him. Peter covered Hook's injured right side, and asked himself momentarily why the buccaneer was limping, then the fight demanded his full attention.

Like berserkers, the boys raged among the Redcaps. "Cap'n!" the boatswain called. "Redcaps canna maintain in the face o' true faith. Pray an' they run like mice!"

Hook killed three of them with one mighty stroke and shot one with his pistol, before he responded to Smee. "Tell me how I'm supposed to have a true faith, after all fate did to me!" One of the Redcaps dived beneath his sword and jumped at his left leg, tearing at the breeches with his long sharp claws, drawing blood.

Before Hook could only react, Peter was there, snatched the creature at the back of his neck and dragged him away from the pirate-captain, hurling him across the room against the wall. "Maybe that's your problem, Hook," the eternal boy said, facing down the next one, fighting tooth and nail with long dagger. "Think of the secret of flying!" Quickly he rolled aside, dodging a halberd that struck the ground. The Redcap howled as Tinker Bell suddenly shot in front of him and blinded him with her fairy light.

"If you want to philosophize, see Cookson!" Hook retorted with a sneer, and shot the next Redcap. With that the pistol was empty and he threw it at another ugly visitor. The grip connected with its face with a definite crunch. It promptly fell and lay still. "On the ship he is the one with answers about religion!"

Behind and around him, the boys raged and insulted the attackers with every offensive slur they knew. But then they heard the Irishman's announcement about true faith, and started to shout lines of prayers they had learned. Michael, who didn't remember any prayer at the moment, simply started to sing a Christmas-song, which the Twins joined.

In the meantime, Wendy tried to rise. She was somewhere beyond exhausted, and felt chilled from the inside out – an echo of the world the ghost had tried to pull her into. But the sight of her Peter, the boys, and the two buccaneers defending themselves against those disgusting little gnomes, forced away her fatigue. And as one Redcap suddenly ran at her, stretching its thin fingers toward her, she leapt to her feet and kicked the bogey away from her. "I have had it up to here with you horrid creatures! LEAVE US ALONE!" she shouted, taking another Redcap by surprise as he gawked up at her.

This hesitation was enough to allow Wendy to whirl around, grabbing up a beautiful long teakwood figure from the mantle and use it like a cricket bat against her attacker. Before the Redcap could raise its nasty claws, he found himself flying through the room -- then thought no more when was stopped by the doorframe. Another Redcap reached for her legs (Hook's shirt only came down to her knees), and the second bogey imitated the path of the first. Wendy was in high dudgeon now.

The attack of the Redcaps attracted the attention of Hook's men, who stormed into the bedroom, roaring with pirate challenges. Jukes, Cecco and Mason gave a short shift, grabbed two or three of the Redcaps each, and hurled them through the open door toward the Elves. This distracted them for a moment from their chanting, and they finished off the bogeys in the blink of an eye. Quang Lee, Mullins, Roberts, Skylight and several other pirates used cutlasses against the creatures that were attacking their legs. Finally, a fight they could handle – and win! Loudly they let out their frustrations by shouting, and by killing the Redcaps, and it grew very crowded and dangerous in the room from all the flying blades.

When finally the last bogey had fled and the others lay dead around them, a kind of peace returned, disturbed by the panting of men and children. "Any left?" Tootles gasped, peering into the dark corners and around the furniture where they had appeared from only minutes before.

Slightly grinned, while he wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Aye! Us!"

Hook finally relaxed, dropping the fouled sword with a clang. "No rest even in your own four walls!" he wheezed.

Peter grinned at him, panting as the pirate was. "At least you're warm again!" he grinned.

The buccaneer made an expression of distaste. "I would have preferred hot bath – far more relaxing!"

Peter's infectious grin only grew broader, and he started to laugh, seeing all of them alive, and mostly unharmed. Soon the rest of the boys had joined him, and then the pirates.

Giliath appeared at the doorway, his moss-green eyes glassy. "Everyone all right?" he asked, his normally melodious voice sounded strained and hoarse. Whatever the Elf had done to banish the ghosts had cost him a lot.

Hook turned his head toward the Elf. "Thank you so much for your concern, Master Elf," he said mockingly. "While you and your friends practiced for the next home concert, we drove off those miserable venomous dwarfs!" He shook his head. "How did they find their way into these rooms?"

Giliath, who never took the pirate's harsh words seriously, simply shrugged. "It is beyond my ken. It is, after all, your castle, Captain, not mine. You are the one to ask yourself that question." His voice was free of any disdain, and sounded completely innocent – his own brand of humor.

Hook snorted. "With all due respect, Master Elf, but your arrogance is as vast as the great outdoors, as large as this brat's beside me!"

Peter laughed again, tossing the dagger back. Hook didn't even respond. _'Heavens, is he in a bad mood!'_ he thought and made a face. _'And I thought he loved a good fight!'_

Hook addressed his men. "Thank you for your help, men. Feel free to celebrate with a barrel of beer. But be careful – no hangovers tomorrow!"

The pirates grinned at him, mumbled their thanks and nearly ran out of the room. All except Smee, who shoved his glasses back on his nose, bending over a dead Redcap. "Didn't expect t'at, did ya, y' little blood-licker? Thought y' could fill your caps with our blood? Not when an Irishman is 'ere 'oo knows 'is lessons!"

His commander looked at him. "Mr. Smee?"

"Aye, Cap'n?" the boatswain turned toward him with a grin.

"I really do appreciate your attempts to keep me safe."

"Mos' welcome, Cap'n!"

"Just one request," Hook continued in a deceptively kind voice.

"Anything, Sir!" was his confident answer, full of anticipation.

"When you push me aside next time to save me from harm, I would deeply appreciate if you wouldn't tromp on my foot. You might not live though it again!"

Smee's eyes grew wide, and he looked down at his commander's bare feet, one purpling nicely over the instep. The boatswain had thought that he was beyond the age to blush, but now his cheeks flamed fiercely red. "Ung… Oh… sorry, Sir!" he managed to get out, while the children again broke into wild laughter.

Even Giliath joined their hilarity, and chuckled. Hook growled something unintelligible under his breath and glared at Peter, who held his arms across his belly with laughter. Again he shook his head. That boy! And, why wasn't he that furious about it, as he should be? He really must be tired. That was the only explanation for his – again – atypical behavior. Resigned, he sighed, waved his arms at the dead Redcaps, telling Smee, "Please take out the garbage and--"

"For the last time, you little rat! Get lost or you'll get the beating of your life!"

The man went silent, seeing his bos'un looking wide-eyed and open-mouthed at something behind him. He turned – and was presented with a sight he never expected.

Wendy danced about on his bed – bedlinens now completely askew – holding the priceless teak figure like a world-cup cricket player in her little hands, swinging fiercely at the last Redcap, who was still trying to do some damage. Her eyes flashed and her damp hair played around her shoulders, and the shirt (which was far too big) had slipped down one shoulder. The laces had come loose during the fight, and the wool seemed to reveal more than it hid. "Jesus wept! Mary Magdalene! Passover lamb! Now I lay me down to sleep! Virgin Mary!" she assaulted the little creature with any Sunday School phrase that came to mind.

Hook whistled quietly at the pugnacious little Amazon, a smile tugging at his mouth. Indeed, she really was an unforgettable sight, and he didn't need much imagination to picture her appearance in several years – now a girl, then a woman … The first curves were already there. "Red-handed Jill – there you are!" he murmured.

Peter had stopped laughing and also glanced at his friend. Girls really did look different from boys!

Wendy's was panting and swinging, oblivious to the fact that the battle around her had ended, of the laughter of the boys, that the other pirates had gone. She was focused on the last Redcap, who now crawled away from her, clearly terrified and badly bruised. And he didn't want anything have to do with this demon human! The Redcap was finally able to leap from the bed. It tumbled, but quickly got up and raced out the door, where he received a well-placed kick from the Elf that conveyed it across the dining room, where it vanished with a howl into the shadows.

Finally, Wendy saw she had the full attention of everyone in the room, and straightened. "What's wrong with the lot of you?" she demanded, still bristling from the fight, looking for more enemies. She saw her brothers and the Lost Boys looking at everything except at her, all with blushing faces. Then she saw Peter's open-mouthed embarrassed gawking and, yes – waving a wild jingling fairy aside, who kept flying in front of his face. At the same time, she heard Smee giggling, while Giliath looked subtly amused. And at last she saw Hook's thoughtful attentive gaze, one brow lifted and an appreciative tilt to his mouth; his forget-me-not-blue eyes sparkling. What in heaven was wrong with her that they all looked at her as if she had grown four arms and six legs?

Finally she looked down at herself and saw the condition of the nightgown she wore – or almost wore. With a squeak that could have called dogs, she dove beneath the blankets.

The teak-figure clattered to the ground. Peter began to laugh once more along with all the other boys, but they all were drowned out by the hearty laughter of Captain James Hook.

TBC…


	21. The Riddle of the Black Castle

**Chapter 20 – The Riddle of the Black Castle**

Thalion relaxed into one of the oversized chairs in the dining room and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, very rare for an Elf. One look at the others and Giliath knew that his comrades and friends felt likewise.

Elves were stronger, quicker than humans, and had abilities unexplainable by them – all of this made humans uneasy whenever they were confronted by an Elf. But there were dangers even for the 'Beautiful People'. And some of those dangers were the creatures from the shadow-world.

They represented the other side of the world that the Elves inhabited. Where the Elves were beings of light, trolls, Alrinachs, harpies, ghosts, Goblins and others like them were creatures of the dark, creatures that fed on others, sapping their energy, drawing out their potency. The souls of the dead, damned to blunder restlessly through the world, gave them special trouble. Not because the ghosts were a physical threat. No. But the Elves knew that a damned soul had practically no chance of finding redemption, and they were compelled with compassion toward them. On the other hand, they had use all their skill to protect themselves and others, and had to force them back into the world of shadows and darkness, from where the ghosts tried so desperately to escape. Their sympathetic hearts yearned to aid these black sorrowful specters, but absolution did not lie in their hands.

Yes, they could do 'magic', as mortals might call it, and they had authority over many natural things, but it wasn't up to them to save a condemned soul. The only thing they could do for the lost souls was pray that the lights in the night-sky would give some hope.

Sighing deeply, Thalion righted his goblet left on the council table, filled it, and drank it down in one long draught. This was no way to get over a fight, but tonight he felt a need for the sweet rich wine Hook had offered them. From the pirate's common room, he heard the men talking to each other. Hearing their conversation and thoughts, he realized that there was little difference between his men and the captain's. Of course, an Elf would never drink himself into unconsciousness, would never use such foul abusive language as the buccaneers. But discussing a battle, its mistakes, victories, consequences if they had lost, was universal. What did the Eldest say? The humans were a young race, full of faults, hubris and stubborn pride, but they were – compared to the Elves – only children. And every child grew and learned. Or died.

As Thalion listened to the talk in the other room, he closed his dark eyes and tried once again to decipher if the Eldest had been right or placed too much trust in the mortals. He felt movement beside him and looked up.

Giliath sat down beside him and filled his own goblet. "That should never have happened!" he said quietly. Thalion lifted a brow at his friend. The younger Elf continued in their soft tongue: "They should never have found us." The usually youthful face seemed hollow and pale. He knew that he had overtaxed himself in the fight against the thing that attacked Peter. But something had made him cast aside all caution. As the girl's scream had wakened him, he rushed into the room with the two children, saw the white shape hovering over the children and heard the boy whimpering. It had infuriated him, and he loosed his authority as Tirnion, pouring himself out, so to speak, to rescue them.

Elves rarely bound themselves to humans. Not that they thought the humans were beneath them, but because it was too painful for them to lose them so quickly. A mortal's life lasted, at most, a century or less before they aged and died, while an Elf remained young and vital. An Elf could still roam the forests while his friend's legs turned feeble, helpless, then grew still as their name was forgotten. A long life had its price – a price they rarely contemplated.

But with Peter, it was different. He was the _eternal boy_ – eternal youth. He couldn't grow old and die in front of his eyes. Yes, he could be killed in fight, as could they all, and Giliath would do anything in his power to protect him – this boy who felt so much like a little brother. It was for this reason that he was even here; for this he had poured out all of himself; for this he would fight with all the skill he possessed. He only hoped that the boy and the man would see each other in a new light after this was over.

Sighing, he sipped his wine. "We have grown slothful, my friend. We should have seen their approach," he said quietly. "Ghosts always seek out the place where they were damned, and Redcaps can smell humans over great distances, and love to attack places where blood has been shed – a lot of blood."

Thalion gave him a humorless grin. "We don't know how many different types of creatures have followed the call of the Dark. We cannot be forearmed against every sinister creature he might have been able to summon."

"Ghosts and Redcaps require no great stretch of the imagination," Giliath insisted, but was interrupted by the arrival of Hook, who approached them.

The lord of the castle wore his robe over the breeches and had pulled on thick socks. He looked tired once again as he joined the two Elves at the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. "The children are finally to bed." He shook his head and snorted into the cup. "If anyone had dared tell me only days ago that I would willingly leave Peter Pan, of all people, in my own chamber – as well as his little witch – as well as protect his whole gang of scalawags, I would have sent him overboard without a plank!"

Thalion lifted a brow and glanced at the buccaneer, too weary to smile. "Many things which seem absurd to us today may be quite normal tomorrow."

Hook took a deep gulp from his cup and shook his head. "You Elves are most eloquent in speech," he sneered. Then his look cleared as he glared at the Elvish commander. "Tell me, Thalion, were those ghosts and those Red… - whatever you call them – just simply spies of the enemy?"

"What do you know about this castle?" the Elf responded and earned a sharp glance.

"I don't know about Elvish manners, Commander, but I've noticed you love to answer a question with another question!"

If the buccaneer thought that he would make the Elf uncomfortable, he was mistaken. Thalion simply bowed his head briefly, saying, "My apologies, Captain. I forget sometimes how easily humans are offended." Before Hook could react, he continued. "My question was a prelude for the explanation of the reason for the presence of ghosts here. All of this--" he swung his hand in a graceful arc, indicating the entire structure, " -- is very old. Very old indeed! Neverland was not always the island you have come to know, Captain. There was a time when it was dark, sinister. It was then known by another name. This castle existed long before the eternal boy came and, with his arrival, he completed the change the island had been undergoing for centuries. What was dark became light; what was evil became good. A few creatures of that dark time still remain here, giving the boy and his friends the adventures a child needs to develop maturity, to build skills."

Thalion took a deep breath and emptied the goblet. He knew that he had the man's full attention. "During the dark time, violence, cruelty and death ruled this land. Many died here, too many. For many, their souls found repose as the island was changed into a land of joy, eternal childhood and light, their murderers destroyed. But those who were responsible for all the deaths are cursed to wander in twilight until they are forgiven, or until the light of Neverland ends, and they are restored to their old shapes and power. Those ghosts have now come together where, for them, it all started: in the Black Castle."

Hook stared at him, his face having lost all color. "Are you saying I live in a haunted castle?" he asked hoarsely, "that the former occupants of this ruin are turned into ghosts, damned to cling to these walls, and now see …" his voice halted.

"… the chance to free themselves from the curse, by bringing Peter to the one who has accepted their inheritance: S'Hadh," Thalion finished.

The pirate-captain swallowed the lump in his throat. "And I've always laughed at ghost stories, ever since I was a small boy," he whispered, clearly shaken.

"They will not harm you as long as S'Hadh hasn't defeated the youth," Giliath now spoke up. "And when we have all joined and fought to conquer the warlock, they will return to their domain of shadows and twilight and will not bother you again. They will be invisible to human eyes as before. Usual they can't reach the rooms that are filled with life, so they will let you alone – if everything turns out to our all satisfaction."

Hook's head turned toward Thalion as a thought occurred him. "If you knew that ghosts would haunt us here, why, for pity's sake, didn't you warn us?" His voice rose now, dark and angry. "If this ruin holds the remnant of the same darkness which now afflicts Neverland, then why did you advise us to come here? What foul game are you playing, Elf?" His eyes flashed with wrath, while his face colored in anger.

Giliath didn't answer, while Thalion leaned back in his chair, still calm. "Certain paths must be risked to reach others."

Hook leaped up, his thin strand of patience had reached its end. They had nearly been killed tonight – all of them! And this wretched pointy-eared relic had the nerve to sit there in his chair, drinking his wine, and philosophize about 'paths'! Red now gleamed in his eyes. "I have tremendous respect for anyone who has lived as long as you, as much as anyone can, but how DARE you put my men and my allies in danger that you could have prevented in the blink of an eye!" he snarled. "You may belong to an ancient folk. You may have collected encyclopedic experience, against which my own are laughable. But this is _my home_ – even if I haven't chosen it of my own volition – and _you _are my guests here! And whatever spark of knowledge you might have of anything that could harm my men, me or the children, then let's have it now! No more Elvish riddles! I don't have two or three millennia to learn what you know and to see things as you see them! A human's life is short, and I don't want to waste whatever time I have left by running into walls when there's someone who can tell me where the door is because of supernatural eyesight!"

Hook's men had heard the outburst, and a few gathered about edges of the door. Smee came quickly out of another room and chased them back. He knew that it was the best to let the captain alone when he was that angry. Afterward, he remained near his commander to interfere should he lose control. (He congratulated himself for having cleaned up the bedroom after the battle already.)

For a long moment, a tense silence hung in the room, then Giliath nodded slowly. "You're right, Captain," he said softly. "Please, sit down. There has been far too much hostility around this place for one night."

For a second, the buccaneer thought of refusing the Elf's request, but then, to his surprise, he found himself taking his seat again.

Thalion frowned. "Giliath, don't! It is not for you--"

"My friend, keep in mind why we came. We are here to help and to support Peter and his allies," the Elf interrupted his friend, and ignored the thin frown. "Because of us, they were endangered. Let us not create further difficulties by denying them the answers they require." He took a deep breath and addressed the scowling pirate-captain. "To explain our action, you have to understand that everything has two sides: a dark and a light one," he said, speaking again with his hands as well as his words. "The Black Castle is part of Neverland's shadow. The power that once lived in these walls is growing, and we had to know how strong it has become. But we could only learn this by coming here and challenging the cursed ones with our presence. I must admit, we didn't expect them to show such power. The ghosts inhabiting this ruin are as strong as they are and visible because S'Hadh's might has grown to the extent that they can leave the twilight. Having this knowledge is important for us all."

"You might recall that these wraiths in the walls heard our plan. Good work, Elf!" Hook growled.

"Even if they had eavesdropped on our council, Captain, they are not a danger to us now," Giliath answered.

"Explain," their host ordered severely.

"These pitiful forlorn spirits are bound to this place. They cannot leave the dark of this Castle to warn S'Hadh. It is possible that they only attacked us because they hoped it was a way to protect the warlock, who might see their cooperation and decide to free them."

The captain of the _Jolly Roger_ stared at him, and snorted. "If you have plans to use my men and these children for other dubious trials, then tell us now, Giliath! I am not a patient man, and your finger is tightening on the trigger of my temper!"

Giliath nodded kindly, giving the mortal another soft smile. "I know how you're feeling now, Captain. Please believe me, we really didn't want to use you and your men and the children as chess pieces, but sometimes unpleasant things have to be done to reach the destination."

Hook lifted a brow; his anger still coloring his expression. "You may be a wise man, Giliath, but you and your comrades should have enough manners to avoid using humans as 'chess pieces'. If you weren't an Elf -- and a necessary ally -- I would challenge you and your soldier-friend to a duel right now!"

Giliath grinned. "There's nothing you can say about Wendy and her temperament – or Peter's. You are full of fire, too!"

Hook grumbled something even the sensitive Elvish ears didn't catch while he fought himself for control. He knew that the worst thing that could happen within their little alliance was an open conflict between them. The consequences could be fatal – like the loss of his ship, if this damn island came to an end. It took a few seconds as he grimly took hold of himself, breathing deeply to calm down, before looking up to the ceiling. "So, the castle his haunted," he murmured, while this fact came home to him. "I am not superstitious, but this…" He made a helpless gesture. "I am haunted enough by my own demons. I have no need, nor room for more."

"After this crisis is over, they will return to their shadows," Giliath murmured, comforting the man. Yes, he could sense that the pirate-captain was indeed haunted by his own ghosts – memories of bad experiences, mistakes, guilt and sorrow.

"How encouraging!" Hook sneered. "Tell me, if you are so well informed about this castle how did it come to pass that it is split into two parts? Lightning?"

Thalion nodded. "Well guessed. It ensued as the dark sovereigns fell. A battle between light and dark is not only a fight between creatures, but rages also in the atmosphere overhead. The thunderstorm that filled the skies on that terrible day was the most violent ever to strike Neverland. And as the dark ones fled into the northern section of the castle, preparing to barricade themselves in there, a bolt of lightning, possibly directed by God Himself, pierced it, and split it to its foundations. The northern section – the portion you instinctively avoid, Captain -- was burned out, and the result you've seen this night: the ghosts. The other section, which had already been conquered by the men and other creatures who had dared to stand against their tormentors, was spared to some degree. Usually the cursed souls cannot enter it. You can believe me when I tell you that they will never bother you again when S'Hadh is defeated."

Fascinated, Hook had listened to the brief history. '_God forbid Mullins ever finds out about them!'_ he thought distractedly. "You tell it as if you'd seen it with your own eyes."

Thalion shook his head. "No, not I. My father."

The pirate-captain stared at him. "I really don't want to know how long ago that was."

The tall commander laughed. "A wise decision, Captain."

Hook took the carafe and emptied its remaining contents into his goblet. He met Giliath's inquiring glance, and smiled out of one side of his mouth. "On my ship, I would use a pint of rum to get some sleep after ghosts, razor-handed little imps, stories of battles in the sky, and haunted ruins!" He dangled the empty container back and forth in front of the Elf. "But in consideration of the difficult days to come, I am behaving like a good and wise leader – damn it all around the horn and back!"

But the younger Elf saw through the man's jocularity. He knew that the mortal man only pretended to be unaffected by the events of the past few days; in truth, he was bone-weary – and frightened. James Hook was a master at concealing any emotions, which were surprisingly deep and intense, but it did him no good; especially not with these two. The younger Elf could feel the rising tide of hopelessness in the pirate.

Giliath leaned over toward the man, and laid one hand on his arm. He dropped the mental restraints that protected him against the alien emotions he would otherwise feel from the people around him, and instantly a flood of varying sentiments washed over him. Steeling himself to bear the raw impulses of the man, he opened himself completely to him – the man who had performed so many thoughtless criminal acts in his life, but still had the decency to risk his life for a young girl, to warm his own worst enemy and bring him back to life, to be capable of true hearty laughter. He felt the bitterness, anger, and lust for revenge of the man, but also the sorrow and loneliness – the desperate yearning for the nearness and affection of another.

The Elf took in all those terrible emotions, and displaced them partially with his own strength, integrity, inner peace and joy. He knew that he couldn't change the heart of the pirate in this manner, but at least he could strengthen the element in him that had kept that heart from turning to stone.

As Giliath took his hand from Hook's arm, his whole body trembled. The energy poured out to fight the ghosts, and now the help for the leader of men had tapped him completely. He didn't even notice that Thalion helped him to his feet and supported him, guiding him to the fireplace. There the Elf captain laid him carefully down onto a pallet the children had left there. In seconds, Giliath was asleep.

Hook sat in his chair, blinking, disorientated, and had the feeling that he just woke up. Coming into focus, he saw the concerned face of Smee above him. "What… what happened?" he murmured, and the little man smiled a bit.

"I don't know, Cap'n. Giliath done t'e same thing with you as wi' Peter t'e day before yesterday. I mean t'is t'ing with t'e light."

Hook had a problem wrapping his thoughts around the bos'un's words. "I'm goan bed," Hook slurred, already half asleep.

Smee stared at his commander. What ever the Elf had done to Hook had its side effects. He cleared his throat. "Uh … Cap'n, yer bed's already taken."

The buccaneer's glassy eyes opened a tad wider. "Taken?"

"Well," the Irishman began carefully. "Ye've allowed Pan and the girl … well … they're sleeping there now."

His commander shrugged, unconcerned, foggy. "They're small, the bed his broad. Where's the difficulty?"

Smee gasped and exchanged a helpless glance with a chortling Thalion, who returned from the fireplace. "His behavior is quite normal at the moment, Mr. Smee," the Elf reassured him. "When we help mortals in this way, it sometimes has produces these reactions. But it will not last long. When the morning comes, he will be back to his usual grouchy self."

"A shame!" Smee grumbled, wrapping his arm around his captain, and pulling him toward his bedroom. "Come wit' me, Sir. Smee will put y' t' bed."

"If I didn't have you …" Hook murmured, and the older man chuckled.

Hook was sometimes in a like mood when he was "in his cups". But the last time Smee had seen his captain _this_ easygoing and cheerful, they had been far away from Neverland, and his captain had worn another name. And in this brief revealing moment, Smee knew that that other man still lived in Hook, as he had always suspected – the very reason why he had faithfully remained at this commander's side.

Thalion watched the two men leaving – one tall and slender, one short and broad; one moving with dignity, even in his inebriated state, the other one waddling like a duck, but with his heart in the right place. _'How different mortals could be!_' he thought, half amused, half amazed. "Good night," he said quietly, and watched both men disappearing. Then he returned to Giliath and sat beside him. Gently he laid one hand on the forehead of the younger, to share his own ancient strength with him. Then he leaned his chair back against the wall beside the fireplace and tried to find his own sleep. Silence returned into the castle, but this time it was peaceful …

-----------------------------

Wendy woke slowly, blinking into a twilight that was almost too dark to allow her to recognize anything. Nevertheless, she knew she was not in the underground home – nor in her bed in London. Then the misty shroud of dreamless sleep vanished, and she remembered that she was in the Black Castle, with the boys. With Elves. With pirates.

She took a deep breath. Who had ever thought that a fierce enemy like Hook could become their ally and that she would find shelter under his roof? Sometimes life took strange directions. Only six days ago, she had lain in her bed in London, had a quarrel with her aunt and had desperately wished for Peter to come and to take her away. And now -- she was snuggled in a wide bed in a haunted castle, threatened by sinister creatures and a warlock who wanted to rule the world, had found new friends – Elves! – had made something like a truce with Hook, of all people, and _Peter_ now lay beside her, nestled against her! She loved the feeling of him close by.

That last item on her list was the most precious. Even if it was improper to share a bed with a boy her age, she didn't care a whit. She lay on her right side with him spooned behind her. She loved having him near, feeling his arm around her waist and his breath tickling her neck.

Wendy yawned quietly and pulled the blanket and the comforter higher, for it wasn't warm in the room. In doing this, she pushed against something soft and warm on the other side of her, on the right. Was someone else sleeping in the same bed as she? John? Michael? Or one of the Twins, after a nightmare? Carefully, she put out her hand and felt bare, smooth skin. Who dared to sleep without a decent nightshirt alongside her? Of course, Peter would never wear something like a nightshirt, no, but with him it was different. And whoever it was, who had dared to crawl into her bed, why, he would get a speech from her in the morning!

Next she realized that the skin belonged to an arm, too muscular for one of the boys. Perhaps it was Giliath, who lay beside her? But she couldn't imagine that the Elf would do something like this. He and the other Elves were far too well-bred than to put her in such a situation!

Could it be a pirate? For a moment Wendy was frightened, thinking it could be Cookson – or Albino, and she didn't know which would be worse – then she realized that the ship's cook would sooner kill her than make himself comfortable beside her! If she really wanted to know, she had to take a closer look at him. She really wanted to identify the person beside her! Her curiosity was certainly piqued. Carefully, so as not to disturb Peter, she pushed herself up on her elbow and peered at the large figure beneath the blanket on her right.

The dim light of the coals still glowing in the fireplace didn't reveal much, but she did recognize a long dark mane and a shoulder. Bending closer she saw a pale face and a dark shadow at the spot where the mouth was – a moustache and something at the chin that…

Hold it – long dark hair; a moustache, the scent of soap, herbs –

Now fully awake and fully aware of who lay beside her, she put out a tentative hand to stroke aside the soft mass, and looked down at the face. "Hook!" she whispered, shocked. Wendy frowned. She didn't know how to react to this alarming situation. On one hand, she was irritated – after all, she was a proper young lady, and deserved to be treated as such! On the other, she couldn't blame him for being so daring. After all, she knew how exhausted he was last night, and she hadn't heard him retire as she lay awake after Peter went to sleep. That meant that the pirate was too fatigued to be concerned about sharing his bed with Peter and her. Even a man like James Hook had his physical limits!

But what an outrageous thing he had done! Here he lay, half naked! (She assumed it was only half, anyway.) The girl shook her head. Pirates! Hook might see himself as a 'gentleman' – whatever that meant in his position – but last night the buccaneer had won over the cavalier. Wendy bit her lips thoughtfully. What should she do now? It was unthinkable that she would spend the night here with a strange man in the same bed. She may have despised the lessons and lectures of her aunt, but this was positively _scandalous_.

Then again, the thought of leaving this warm comfortable nest, to spend the rest of the night on the cold floor, was unthinkable!

And then, mercifully, the decision was taken out of her hands as Hook shifted in his sleep onto his left shoulder, wrapped his right arm gently around her, pulled her to him, and relaxed again with a deep sigh. As the man had started to move, Wendy had lain back down to avoid waking him. And now she was imprisoned between man and boy – a situation that felt … ah … quite … comfortable.

Peter mumbled something and closed the distance to her; burying his face at her throat. A low growl escaped the pirate, and he tightened his grip around her; his large warm body seemed to curl around her. Again Wendy bit her lips, grinning, trying very hard not to giggle. The warmth of the man on the one side, and the snuggling of the boy on the other were most reassuring. Especially when she listened to the sounds outside.

The wind rushed around the castle, howled through the battlements and raged across the frozen sea. It even drowned out the sound of the crackling ice floes. Here and there she thought she could hear the screeching of the harpies and eerie the calls of the Alrinachs. It was a cold and sinister night in Neverland; full of threat and danger, and strange sounds of the ruin.

Listening, Wendy shivered – until she remembered that she was here, between Hook and Peter, safer than any other place in Neverland. Their steady breathing, their warmth and strength made her feel as secure as a babe in its bassinet, and she tried to relax. Sighing, she decided to banish all thoughts of propriety and scandalous behavior, and to relish this unheard-of, deliciously unacceptable situation. Why, if either of them was awake --!

For a moment, Aunt Millicent came to mind. If her aunt could see her now – lying clad in a man's shirt between two barely-dressed males – there would no smelling-salt in the world that could wake her up! Wendy smiled again. _'Red-handed Jill!'_ a voice whispered in her mind, and at this moment, she liked that thought. _'Rebel!'_ Yes, that she was, and it felt quite good!

Yawning she put one hand each on the arm of her two bedfellows, and only seconds later her mind drifted away to a pleasant dreamland, full of warmth and wellbeing.

--------------------------------

He heard a popping sound, a distant howling. Lying on his back, there was a weight on his left shoulder and another across his waist. Something was tickling his chest. He slowly became more aware, and he recognized at last that the popping came from a fireplace, the howling was a raging storm outside the castle, and that the tickling came someone else's hair. The soft scent of roses was under his nose, coming from the 'silk' on his shoulder and chest. And the other weight… was an arm. What the devil …

Hook's eyes flew open, and he blinked into the twilight cast by the remains of the fire. He saw that he was in his own bed in the Black Castle, and that he was definitely not alone! Carefully he turned his head to see the walnut-brown hair on his shoulder. Behind that was another head, full of golden curls in complete disarray. Hook's eyes grew wide as he started to comprehend that Wendy and Peter were beside him in his own bed, sleeping peacefully as only children can. For a long moment, he couldn't believe it. No, of course he was alone! He was only dreaming; that was all! Any second now Smee would knock on his cabin-door to bring him his breakfast, the parrot Short Tom would croak something nasty and he would start another lonely day on board the _Jolly Roger_ ...

But as the seconds ticked by, and the wind continued to blow (quite realistically) around the battlements, the fire danced in the fireplace, and Wendy's breath caressed his skin, tickling the hair on his chest, he came to the conclusion that he wasn't dreaming. The two children really _were_ in his bed, and seemed to have forgotten the difference between friend and foe.

One side of him, the one that spent many years as a pirate, wanted to leap up, cursing wildly. How dare these impertinent juveniles disturb him in his own _private room_? Wasn't it enough he had to tolerate their presence during the day!

But another side of him felt something like a soft joy awaken, enjoying their presence, and wanting to hold on to it. Their demonstrated trust, sleeping next to him, warmed places inside of him that hadn't been warmed for a very a long time, and for a long beautiful moment, he became a normal man, not a feared pirate, hated and loathed. Here, now, during these stolen moments, he could pretend he was someone else; someone he had been earlier, before life took him to sea and circumstances turned him into a buccaneer. Here and now, he could take pleasure in human warmth and closeness.

The second side was growing stronger, and this morning, defeated the first one – like it had so often in the last few days. Carefully he shifted and turned toward the children, watching their peaceful sleep. His wounds reminded him they were there, but that was nothing compared to their former severity. That wonder-medicine of the Elves really was magical.

Someone must have come in earlier and fed the fire. The flames were licking higher, and its golden light danced in the boy's golden curls, turning them to bronze, while the girl's brown-gold mass shimmered in a darker titian. The shadows it threw gave their faces more depth, but also softened them.

There they lay, two children, careless and innocent in their sleep. What were they dreaming? For a long moment, the bitter pirate in him was silenced, and he asked himself questions he had never asked before. What would be if they weren't enemies? What would it be like if they could live peacefully, side by side? What if he could teach Peter -- not enmity and battle -- but things a boy his age should learn? In this quiet moment he had to admit that Giliath was right. He and Peter had much in common – possibly too much.

And Wendy? What if he had never made that list of her offenses, real or imagined, and could just enjoy her humor, charm, intelligence and imagination – not to mention her growing beauty? What would she be like if she weren't a child anymore, but a young woman?

He nearly laughed. Whom was he trying to fool here? One look on her sweet face with the full pouting lips, the long dark lashes and the little nose was enough to answer his questions. He knew exactly what he would do if she weren't a child anymore. He would move heaven and earth to win her, and to seduce her, and that thing with the 'thimble' could go to hell!

Suddenly 'the pirate' reined in the man's thoughts. Why torment himself with such questions? The boy would never get over his animosity! And the girl would pay for every offense! He was James Hook, captain of the _Jolly Roger_, and not some weakling who let himself be ruled by his emotions!

But …

Here, in these precious few minutes, he could at least pretend everything could be different, and that there was no abyss of bitterness or wrath that separated him from the rest of the world.

Wendy shifted beside him and, to his distinct surprise, snuggled closer to him, seeking his warmth. He heard a sweet, satisfied sigh, and instinctively he tightened his arm around her. How small she was! So vulnerable! Even with the fire, temper and claws of a lioness. But at the moment, she was nothing more than a tiny kitten, and his desire to protect her against the dark and sinister creatures outside the Black Castle and against all harm that threatened grew exponentially. Only after he had pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead did he realize what he had done. Oh Alas, what was happening to him? Why the pain at the simple thought of her getting hurt? Why the stab of guilt at the memory of the moment he had forced her from the plank – standing there at the end of the bouncing wood, blindfolded, bound, terrified and pale as ash?

A low, throaty sound escaped her, while she tucked herself completely against him; her arm tightened around his waist, and something completely alien cleaved through the walls around his softening heart and woke something like tenderness in him. In this defining moment of revelation, he knew that he could never harm her. Never again! Yes, he would not forget what she had done, but he would not harm her. From one second to the next, it had become simply out of question …

Perhaps it wasn't that suddenly, after all.

The boy murmured in his sleep and moved closer to the girl, looking again like an angel in his sleep, and not a bit less vulnerable than Wendy. Groaning, Hook closed his eyes, as he realized that even Peter's presence didn't bother him as it should. Why! Why even his ancient resentment was going quiet in the moment, and made room for more bothersome questions he didn't want to answer and …

The Elves!

The perception hit him like a hammer. What had been the last thing he'd been aware of the night before? Giliath's soft voice, his hand on his arm and then an odd dream of a place he had never visited before, but had seemed so familiar – a place full of peace, joy and harmony. And then he had awoken here, beside the children.

Interfering pointy-eared magicians! If one of them ever _dared _come near him like that again, he would show them what it meant to --

"Are you awake, Captain?"

With a startled shout, Hook sat up and struck out with his right arm at the potential enemy beside his bed, while he pushed the girl behind him protectively.

His mutilated arm met with something firm, while behind him Wendy gasped a protesting "Hey!" followed by a thumping and a surprised outcry: "Ouch!"

Giliath looked down at the three mortals – two in bed, the third one sitting up next to it, clearly perplexed – and started to laugh. "I apologize, my friends, I didn't mean to startle you," he managed to get out; his green yes sparkling with merriment.

The pirate-captain swore under his breath, blue eyes shooting daggers at the Elf. "How dare you to intrude in my bedroom and creep up to me like a thief? If I had been wearing my hook, you would be dead now!" he hissed, and swore under his breath as the wounds in his arm and shoulder started to sting.

Giliath shrugged and tried to stifle his laughter -- unsuccessfully. "I would have caught your arm before any damage was done," he answered, still chuckling. Hook stared at him, and cursed the Elf with all new original material.

"That's no reason to throw me out of bed!" Peter grumbled, rising and rubbing his bottom. It was no fun to be torn out of a beautiful dream and then land on a cold hard floor. In fact, it was downright humiliating. He, Peter Pan, Prince and protector of Neverland, thrown out of bed! He glared at the pirate, a half amused Wendy, and a chortling Elf.

Hook's icy stare turned suddenly to a grin. "That was just a little payback for your ungentle awakening two days ago."

Quiet laughter came from across the room, and the four of them looked over at eight smirking boyish faces. "What are _you_ doing here?" he roared. Was the entire gang in his bedroom, sleeping in blankets beside his fireplace? It was more than enough to have them around them _all day_, but to tolerate this, first thing in the morning, was too much!

"You invited them to stay here last night, secure and warm, after our fight with the ghosts and the Redcaps, Captain," Wendy informed him, and before he could retort, she continued, suddenly sounding very grown-up, "and, truthfully, I would have thought you to be more of a gentleman than to bed next to a young lady in such an improper manner!" She was trying very hard to ignore that the pirate-captain sat beside her, exposed to the waist (the bandage didn't count, of course).

Hook stiffened for a moment, turned toward her, saw that she looked at him with that obstinate tilt of her chin – and grinned. "First: I see no young lady, but a rebellious grouch. Second…"

"Second you're no gentleman, sir!" Wendy shot back.

"That is for a true lady to decide, little one, and not a spitting wildcat." He his voice was light – far too light.

The girl's eyes started to flash. "No true gentleman would lie half naked beside a young girl!" she hissed, and Hook started to laugh.

"But a boy your age is allowed to?"

Wendy felt heat rising into her cheeks, while Peter frowned. What did Hook mean by that?

The girl lifted her chin. "That is completely different."

The buccaneer's face became serious, but not angry. No. Something else played in his eyes. "No, little one. There is absolutely no difference. And the fact that you don't see it tells me more than you wish it did."

Not understanding, Wendy simply straightened her shoulders, while she felt Peter crouching beside her, having once again crawled under the blanket. "Tell me what you mean, Captain."

Hook looked in her eyes, and realized that she truly had no idea what he meant. Of course. After all, she was still a child and didn't recognize the new part of her that had already awakened. Sleeping next to a boy was no problem for her, but next to a man was. He needed no more proof that Wendy Darling was far more grown up than Peter could ever understand – far more than she was ready to accept in the moment. It was an amazing new insight, and opened up realms of possibilities he was not prepared to explore just yet.

Giliath cleared his throat and all eyes went to him. "What do you want, Master Elf?" Hook growled, remembering suddenly that he had a bone to pick with him. "Pray tell, what did you do to me last night?"

The Elf raised an aristocratically arched brow. "Of what do you speak, Captain?"

Hook stared at him. Let someone else tell him that Elves couldn't lie! But Giliath's face showed only complete innocence, and the pirate-captain understood that the elder sincerely felt no guilt. But his words seemed to hide the truth. Slowly but surely, Hook was learning how an Elf shrouded things he didn't want to speak about. "You know exactly what I mean!" he pressed, glaring at him under a stormy brow.

The youthful healer smiled sheepishly. "You… I saw you were exhausted, and full of questions and uncertainties. I heal souls. Thus, I assisted you in the same way I helped Peter earlier."

Hook was very conscious of the children's glances, and straightened his shoulders; ignoring the lingering twinges from his injuries. Giliath's words about him being exhausted and uncertain pained his enormous ego. Yes, he had been somewhat tired, but that was all! "If you think I ever need your help again, you should remember a few facts, Elf: I am not afraid of a handful of dwarfs in need of a manicure, nor a dozen howling creatures wearing sheets who mistook this castle for the north pole! It takes more than that to 'exhaust' me!"

Wendy heard Peter laughing behind her, and threw him and the other boys a warning glare. She knew that Hook was very sensitive regarding his legendary prowess. Long before she met him, she had come to understand that the man despised weakness.

Peter pulled the comforter higher. He liked it that Wendy was brave enough around Hook to argue with him. She really was his girl! Smiling at her, he laid one hand on her arm and grinned in his opponent's direction, unable to resist the little devil in him. "Pride wounded, Captain?" he teased the man, and earning a glare from him.

"Shut up, Pan!

"And a good morning to you, too, Hooky!"

The buccaneer opened his mouth to retort, but then thought better of it, and chose to ignore the boy. No, he didn't want to give in to irritation this early in the morning. Giliath understood and added, "It was a difficult night for the entire company. I am certain you understand what I mean, Captain." He met the blue depths and smiled gently. "Unfamiliar situations inspire fear. Only a fool runs blindly into danger, blinded by pride, and fails to recognize when his feet leave the safe path. And you are many things, Captain, but you are no fool."

The Elf's voice was light, and the pirate-captain knew that he was building a bridge for him – one on which he wouldn't lose face, but could acknowledge the assistance he received. By all demons of the deep blue sea! -- he was a pirate, and not a diplomat!

But, suddenly he remembered, his professors had always said that he had a feeling for such things. He swallowed a sigh. Maybe they were right, and for a brief instant, he asked himself what would have become of him if he had chosen another way of life. He felt a small hand on his arm and glanced down. Heavens, how petite her hand was, but still he could feel the strength in it. He met the sweet glance of the dove-blue eyes and wanted to moan. What could he lose to let the whole theme about 'Elvish help' alone? Very much: his ship – and maybe the life of this pretty, tempting little wildcat.

Pressing his lips together and ignoring the sniggering comments of the boys – even Peter's inquiring glance – he took a deep breath, and asked properly: "Why have you come here, Giliath? I am certain that you have something in mind."

The Elf's eyes twinkled – by the stars, this mortal really was proud! – and took a deep breath. "Morning is passing, and we must prepare to travel."

"Passing?" the three in the bed asked in unison, wearing the same shocked expression.

Slightly, John and Curly exchanged a glance, starting to giggle. The sight of their leader, their sister and the pirate-captain was too absurd – sitting there with wide eyes and open mouths. Michael and the Twins broke out in laughter, while Tootles rubbed his belly, his stomach already grumbling. Giliath chuckled. "Yes. Thalion and I thought it advisable to give you all more time to recover. The way through the passages inside of Neverland toward Pirate's Cove is long, and your men, Captain, and Wendy need the small amount of daylight that only will come during midday."

Hook groaned. "I am not used to someone else making my decisions for me."

Wendy rolled her eyes. "I have to repeat Peter's remark: Pride wounded?" She met his hard glance, and gave him a sweet smile.

Murmuring something about 'female charm' and 'witches' he turned away. "How late is it?"

"Measured by your way of counting time, nine o'clock," Giliath told him, and Hook's eyes widened.

"Nine o'clock?" He couldn't remember when he'd slept that long – that is, when he wasn't sleeping off a rum-soaked hangover.

The Elf smiled. "Yes. Breakfast is ready – that is, what the Hobgoblins have left. Your cook is quite annoyed by their presence, but he managed to prepare a decent meal." Hook snorted, while Wendy looked curiously at Giliath.

"What are the Hobgoblins?"

"Hobgoblins," Slightly said. "Little gnomes."

"Love to eat!" Nibs added.

"Gosh, they must be related to Tootles!" Curly joked and earned a whack from his stout friend.

"They live in the kitchens," John informed her, "and Peter said that you'd probably say they were 'swe-e-e-e-et'!" The last word was warbled by all the boys, while they batted their eyes and made kissy-mouths.

Wendy laughed at them, pulled the blanket away, and grabbed a pillow to throw, however Hook snatched it away from her. "What was that for?" she prompted, while Hook gave her an irritated glance.

"That's my feather pillow you're about to pitch into the fireplace!"

"Don't be so petty!" Peter said.

Wendy ignored both of them until she suddenly realized that both had lowered their gazes at her. "What?" she demanded.

Giliath spoke up. "Perhaps, little lady, you should get dressed before you start a pillow-fight."

Wendy looked down, realized that the shirt really didn't cover enough, and threw the pillow over herself, blushing again.

Hook smirked. "Little lady? Show me a lady who'd wear something like that."

The girl shot him a glare. "It's _your_ shirt, Captain, and after you tore my nightgown apart, I had no other choice."

The pirate-captain lifted a brow. "You mean, after I saved you from the cold, I was kind enough to offer you something from my own wardrobe, for which I am _still_ awaiting a 'thank you'." He cocked his head. "Tell me, little one, do you really have nothing else to wear than a nightgown? And I don't mean the leather dress you got from the Indians."

"I brought other dresses," she informed him coolly. "But that I brought with me is in our hide-out and is a summer-dress, so it is useless at the moment."

"Not very wise for a 'young lady' to bring only one kind of dress with her, instead of being prepared for all situations," he mocked her. "And I don't mean stealing things to change into clothes."

That did it. Without thinking she stuck her tongue out at him, took the edge of the blanket and threw it completely over her, flopping back onto the mattress, hissing something about 'pirates' and 'not a real gentleman'.

Shocked, Hook glared down on the small heap beside him, while Giliath and all the boys started to laugh.

The buccaneer moaned and rubbed his face. One more item added to the bill Wendy Darling would have to pay!

TBC…

So, dear readers, I hope you liked that chapter. I thought it was time to explain a little bit about Neverland's history, the Black Castle and why the Elves are so good informed about the mess that happens on the magical island. I also thought this was the right moment to let Giliath coming more in action; and this not only as a warrior and protector, but mainly as healer and wise man, because that is what he really is. I also couldn't resist to write the scene in bed – regarding the whole development of their feelings for each other, what will be very important for the story.

In the next one a new character will come – a new droll friend, who will mix up the whole troop of alleys and I really hope that you're going to love him.

Thank you so much for all the kind reactions; please, please review more,

love you all,

yours Lywhn


	22. Bumblyn's Folk

Dear Readers,

I am so sorry that the update lasted so long, but my friend who does the beta-reading for me, had been very busy and - add. to that - we had here in Germany holidays for Father's Day, during that I had no time to publish the new chapter.

But now, at last, the new one. As told there will be a new character and I am really curious if you are going to like him.

Please review and now: have fun.

Love you all!

Lywhn

**Chapter 21 Bumblyn's Folk**

Breakfast was chaotic. Whoever found time went to the table and ate something, and so it was a steady coming and going in the dining room. Hook, who was accustomed to dining alone, ordered his breakfast in his room after he had chased the boys out. Of course they couldn't go without some impudent remarks, and the buccaneer was sorely tempted to demonstrate to every one of them what he had done with Peter two mornings before.

And he was still annoyed Wendy's show of disrespect. No one had ever dared to stick their tongue out to him (besides Pan, of course), and then came this… this girly and… and… He still was at a loss for words. Oh, he would teach her respect when this was over! Perhaps a polishing of the woodwork from topsail to bilge, or a complete cleaning of the _Jolly Roger_ would teach her how to behave toward him! He'd certainly think of… of… something appropriate.

But then she had asked him if she could borrow some soap so she could wash, and he had snapped at her to use the snow outside. And then he saw her shocked expression and helpless tugging at her tousled hair, and - to his unspoken horror - he waved her toward his water closet and grumbled: "Hurry! I must wash up myself soon!"

Cursing himself in the most colorful way at his consent – again – to the point of offering her his own personal possessions – again, too – he barked for Smee to shave him, snorting as he caught the corner of her amused smile before the girl vanished behind the closed door. Damn it all to hell and back – three times! He really had to take control over himself quickly as possible, or she would wrap him completely around her little finger!

To her credit, Wendy did hurry, as only someone from a large family knows how, because she knew that Hook had to prepare everyone for the next leg of their journey, and he would not do it in his present state. Only minutes later, fresh, cleaned, and hair still wet, she had rushed into the first room Peter and she had shared, where she prepared to dress.

And there she found her gift. On the bed laid a pair of leggings, just like the Elves wore, and as she touched the soft material she realized that they must be a present from Giliath. One of the Elves had shortened a spare pair for her. The leggings were beautifully warm – cozier than anything she had ever worn.

She kept Hook's woolen shirt (which reached almost to her knees) beneath her fur-doublet, rolling up the sleeves, tugging on the thick boots, now dry, and tying the anterior part of her damp hair back with a strip of leather, she almost looked like a little Elf. As she finished, she looked around her. The supernatural chill left by the ghosts had been driven out by the Elves, but it was still damp in the room; blankets and pillows were damp and the wood for the fire would need to dry longer before it could be used. Peter's pipe laid on the nightstand, as well as his knife, and Wendy took them to return to the boy.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" the girl called and Giliath entered.

He smiled as she saw her. "I am pleased that they fit," he said and nodded toward her new garment.

"Yes, perfectly. And they are so beautifully warm," Wendy returned his smile. "It is far more practical aboard of a ship, of course," she explained, and the Elf nodded appreciatively.

"If you carried bow, arrows and a sword, you could walk among Thalion's men without attracting attention."

The girl giggled. "Perhaps, except for the shape of my ears. Oh, and my lack of talent for walking on snow without leaving tracks."

Giliath now laughed, and brought his right hand from behind his back. "I have something for you – only for protection during your journey to the ship." Lying on his outstretched hand was a dagger. The blade was long and thin, etched with graceful runes, the handle sleek, well fitted to her hand, and inlaid with metal and jewel work. In his other hand, Giliath had a belt and the sheath for the dagger, made of wood and embossed leather. Wide-eyed, Wendy examined the valuable weapon. "This … is for me?" she asked, amazed.

"Yes. The handle is small enough for your hand, and the blade just the right length. It is perfectly balanced. Look!" He laid the dagger on his index-finger, exactly there where the blade met the guard. It lay there, horizontal to the floor. "You see? Far easier to use in battle. Do you know how to use it?"

Wendy nodded, her gaze still fixed on the weapon. "Yes. Peter showed me … and Hook. And … I've practiced with my brothers," she bit her lip, "with wooden swords," she admitted, a little embarrassed.

Giliath smiled. "What counts is the man – or in your case, the girl – and not the kind of weapon. And practicing with wooden weapons is wise, especially in the beginning. Otherwise we'd all walk around with missing fingers and hands -- or play dead!"

The girl giggled and took the dagger carefully in her hands. "Thank you so much, Giliath. I will take proper care of it."

"I hope that you never will need it, my lady."

Wendy sighed. "Yes. As do I." Giliath bowed slightly, and left the room, while Wendy slung the belt about her waist. Now she almost felt like an Elf.

-------------------------------

The children and men were packing their belongings. Wendy stood near Peter, and watched with sad eyes. Now, as the moment of parting drew near, her light mood was leaving her. She didn't want to go to the Jolly Roger! She didn't want to be separated from Peter and the others! Peter saw her expression and touched her hand. "Don't be afraid. Everything will turn out right in the end – and we'll all live happily ever after."

Wendy tried a smile. "Peter, you're the personification of optimism."

He grinned. "My role!" He bent down and rolled his pallet, fixing it with straps. He looked over at the Elves, talking quietly with each other, already done packing. "Thalion said he'll send two of his warriors with you and the others. That should help. They'll be able to warn you in time, if there are enemies about. And you know as well as I: Two Elves are worth more than twenty pirates."

"Don't let Hook hear you say that," Nibs grinned, fighting with his own pallet which slipped out of its bindings a second time. "Pesky thing!" he growled, and sighing, Peter gave him a hand.

Wendy turned away. It hurt to see them all preparing to leave her. She wandered through the great room and looked at the paintings to distract herself. They were quite beautiful, and she thought that Hook indeed had a good eye for art. Suddenly she heard an angry shout and wild curses, coming from the broad stairway that led down to the kitchen. Curious she stepped nearer and listened.

"I'll get ya, ye damn little rats!" Cookson yelled, and she could tell his mood was not the best.

"Rats?" Wendy whispered and shuddered. She wanted nothing to do with them.

"Hobgoblins," Billy Jukes, who was nearby, told her. "T'ey irk our Cookie whenever we're here!"

"'Cookie'?" Wendy asked bewildered.

The tattooed pirate grinned broadly. "A nickname. But don't call 'im t'at. 'E don't like it very much."

The girl smiled. "No wonder!" She saw the gunman walk away, and heard again the wild and colorful curses of the ship's cook. Hobgoblins. Sprites that lived alongside the humans, even though invisible most of the time. But now they seemed to be quite visible, judging from the noise from the kitchen. She was curious about these troublemakers, and really wanted to see one. Glancing over her shoulder – Peter and the boys were still packing – she gripped for the dagger that now hung at her left side, made sure that she could drew if needed, and quickly descended the broad staircase.

The stone steps were much like the ones to the tower, aged, edges rounded by the passage of thousands of feet over the centuries. Wendy moved carefully toward the kitchen.

Three torches gave her some light. From below Cookson's growling came up to her, making her pause. But she felt she must go down to the kitchen to see the Hobgoblins. Nearly at the bottom of the stair, she approached an archway. It was from there Cookson's grumblings originated, and also some wonderful smells.

Pressing herself against the left wall at the doorway, she peeked around the corner into the kitchen. The center of everyone's home – even in a castle! – looked exactly as you might imagine. To the right was a huge fireplace, where a black kettle hung on a long chain over the fire. In the middle was a large worn table, on which different cooking utensils were laid, a few stools scattered about. In the wall straight ahead was the oven – large enough to hold an ox and boar together. Several alcoves of different sizes held a variety of pots in all sizes.

At the left side of the kitchen were cupboards large enough to hold the Lost Boys, and two sideboards, made of smooth dark wood. The walls were rough, but plastered so that they were almost white – contrasting with the woodwork. The whole kitchen looked as if it came directly from a book of fairytales – but for one difference: flour was strewn everywhere along with onions and potatoes. Many tomatoes had been squashed into the stones. Most of the vegetables had been nibbled, and even a half loaf of bread had fallen prey to the Hobgoblins everlasting hunger. In the center this mess stood an enraged Cookson, his eyes flashing. He held a large frying pan with both hands, staring in the direction of a dark niche and the cupboards.

Wendy followed his gaze and found three little creatures, barely a cubit tall. They wore pointy boots, trousers and tiny doublets of rough woolen material, shirts made of linen, and pointy hats. Their hair was thick and curly, almost like wool, and fiery red. Their faces were indeed 'sweet': bright blue eyes over a rounded nose, brown heart-shaped faces made them appear comical. Their large pointed ears stuck out from under their caps – ears that moved like a horse's or a cat's (as Wendy realized with amazement). As they scampered, Wendy noticed tails that ended in red tufts. Two of them waved at Cookson, jumping up and down and swinging apples, while the third one tried to creep away – his ears laid close to his little head. He seemed to be afraid, and glanced nervously from the pirate to the other side of the kitchen and back, his tail was pressed close to his small back.

Wendy straightened and dared a closer look, following the Hobgoblin's glare. And there she saw the reason for the distracting antics of the first two. A fourth peeked from the corner by the oven up to the cook and then at his friends. If Cookson spotted him, he would be trapped in the corner. Without realizing the girl held her breath. The boys had been right -- she did like them! And she hoped that the fourth could escape before Cookson noticed him.

But fate glanced the other direction. Cookson was a lot of things, but not stupid, and his attention was drawn by the fearful glances of the third little thief. He turned around and saw the fourth Hobgoblin, who looked up at the pirate, terrified. "You!" Cookson snarled. "Ye've stolen four of me eggs!" He closed the distance to the little thief and ignored the cheeping cries of the three others.

The trapped Hobgoblin gasped and his ears fell, while his tail wrapped around his waist – a certain sign that he was afraid. "I turn ye into a pancake, ye miserable excuse fer a dwarf!" the ship's cook hissed and lifted the pan.

Wendy reacted, the Hobgoblins having immediately won her heart. Without thinking, she ran into the kitchen. "NO!" the girl yelled, plucking a potato from the floor. She threw it with all her might at the pirate, and it found its target. The potato met his ugly head, and he swore savagely. Wendy didn't waste a second. Collecting all her courage, she rushed between the pirate and the Hobgoblin, gathered the very surprised creature in her arms and dashed away.

Cookson roared in wrath. "YOU! Now ya gimme a reason t' slit yer throat!" He threw the pan after her, and the Hobgoblins at the cupboard gave a warning shout. Wendy ducked, and the heavy pan flew over her and hit the wall with a loud clang, where it left a deep indentation.

"Coward!" she cried. "Can't you fight properly?"

"T'is is your end!" he screamed and snatched a knife from the table.

Without a clear thought, Wendy reacted. Quickly she whirled around and kicked the next stool in his direction, while she hugged the little one to her. The result was resounding – for Cookson. He collided with the chair in the middle of a leap. Losing his balance, he toppled onto it, breaking it to pieces. He lay stunned in the middle of the wreckage, then found himself pelted by tomatoes, eggs and onions, launched by the other Hobgoblins. Wendy watched as a tomato hit him between the eyes, juice running over his face, and she had to giggle, then met his heated gaze.

"I'll skin ya live, witch!" he shouted and scrambled to his feet.

Wendy hopped back toward the stairway, reaching for her dagger, as the first three little people came to her aid. One of them jumped at the cook's leg, biting his calf, the two others dashed up his clothes and started using his head as a drum. Several others emerged from the top-shelf of the cupboard and threw cups and plates at the pirate. Wendy spotted several female Hobgoblins among them as well, with longer hair held back with caps or headscarfs. They were dressed in little pinafores, pointed shoes, blouses and little doublets. "Run!" one of the females chirped when she met the human girl's eyes, and Wendy darted toward the staircase.

Cookson ignored the two Hobgoblins on his back, swiped the one on his leg aside and ran toward the girl; shards of broken crockery crunching under his boots.

"Set me down, girl!" the one in her arms squeaked and Wendy let him go. He took several onions, and lobbed them at the cook with surprisingly strength.

Cookson, taken off balance once again, landed on his rump, rubbing his head. "Ouch! Blasted bilge-rat!" he cursed as he made to rise.

The Hobgoblin ignored him, grabbed a broken chair leg, and began banging away on the pirate's one foot. Cookson howled and hopped on the other one, screaming loudly about little monsters and why did everyone aim for his feet?

"Just as y' deserve, y' stupid, slow an' besotted son of Adam!" his attacker cried with a miniature voice. But he spoke too soon, because the enraged ship's cook was still hopping about, blocking his retreat back to his friends. The little thief whirled around to scamper toward Wendy – but collided with the wall beside the stairway instead. Dropping onto his back, he rubbed his forehead, and blinked up at the ceiling, while several of the others on the cupboard moaned and wrung their little hands.

Turning, Wendy saw Cookson regain his footing and draw his cutlass. Collecting her courage, she paused long enough to pluck the fallen Hobgoblin yet again, then dashed to the staircase. Behind her, the cook roared, and she heard his heavy (limping) steps chasing her. The Hobgoblin peeked over her shoulder and squeaked, terrified, his long tail wrapping around her arm.

Instinctively Wendy ducked and threw herself to the side, as the cutlass flew past her and vanished into the shadows, clattering on the stairs. Shocked, she slowed a moment as she glanced back at the cook; her heart racing, while anger surged up from her toes. "Landlubber!" She yelled the pirate-insult, and dodged again, avoiding Cookson's grasp.

She kicked at his shin, whirled around and fled up the stairs – that is, she intended to flee, but collided with something warm. A strong hand caught her before she lost her balance, and a dark voice barked: "CEASE AND DESIST, all of you!"

Gasping, she looked up into the decidedly UN-amused face of James Hook. Peter warily descended to stand beside him, while Tinker Bell and Aurora darted about him in the air. Behind them Giliath, Thalion, Smee and the rest of the boys emerged, crowding the staircase. Someone's foot jostled the cutlass on the stair in the dark, and the weapon slid down the steps, clattering all the way to the bottom.

"Wendy!" Peter gasped, quickly discerning the events between all persons involved. "What's the matter?"

"What's that?" John asked, peering over Peter's shoulder and pointed at the Hobgoblin.

"What's all the yelling about?" Nibs added, who elbowed himself forward.

"Aww, 'e's bloody marvelous!" Curly gasped, having poked his head between Peter's and Hook's elbows to get a better view.

The Hobgoblin watched them all with enormous eyes, never having been in the open like this and under so many strangers' eyes, clinging to Wendy like a raft on a raging sea, his tail tightening about her arm with apprehension.

Tinker Bell stared down at the boys and shook her head. Why did every child find those little thieves so appealing? Yes, they were helpful, somewhat, and didn't demand much for their efforts. But as soon as you didn't do as they wished, they changed into little nuisances. It was certain that Cookson hadn't done as they wished, resulting in the mess about the kitchen. In fact, the pirate loathed them.

"New friend of yours?" Slightly grinned, tiptoeing behind Nibs and Peter, beaming at the Hobgoblin.

"Just have a look at Cookson!" Twin one giggled.

"Hey, calm down or you'll get a stroking!" Twin two called to the furious ship's cook, whose chest heaved and teeth ground together in his wrath. Both little boys had crouched between the legs of their friends to see the reason for the flurry.

"That is just 'stroke'!" John corrected.

"Might I hold him, Wendy?" Michael pled, leaning over John's shoulder, standing two stairs higher than his brother.

"A Hobgoblin!" That was Giliath. "Little lady, I sincerely hope you know what you have done here." Both fairies sighed heavily, guessing that the mortal girl had no idea what she had just done.

Wendy took a deep breath, glancing at the boys, the men and fairies, the Elves (who looked decidedly unhappy) and stammered, "He … he tried to kill it and I … He … he threw the cutlass after me … and chased us, and broke things … that wasn't me … He…" she halted, clearly unable to give a sober explanation.

"T'is damn li'l hag t'rew a potato an' a chair at me, 'afore she kicked me, and she even tol' t'ose rats over t'ere to use me as a target!" Cookson snarled, rubbing his shin and pointing toward the other Hobgoblins on the cupboard, who were barely visible past their angry little eyes.

"A chair?" Hook repeated; while he scowled toward the cupboards. The Hobgoblins, finally noticing the master of the castle in their presence, indicated such as all ears pointed stiffly to the ceiling in shock; their eyes big as saucers. Then they ducked, ears wilting, tails close to their bodies. The pirate-captain snarled. Well, at least THESE little pests respected him! Alas, he had enough problems, especially with a devastated kitchen, a dozen revolting bogeys, a lame and furious cook and yet another dust-up between one of his men and Wendy, who looked at him, innocent as a newborn. Brimstone and gall! This day had started so nicely, but it seemed that was over now!

Wendy met Hook's glare and collected her courage and her scattered thoughts. "He threw a pan at me and threatened to kill me with a carving-knife. So I pushed a chair into his way, before he could catch me! And the Hobgoblins tried to rescue me, as they--" she began, but stopped as Hook lifted his left hand and cut her off with an impatient gesture. Shivering, she pressed the Hobgoblin tighter to her, which he didn't seem to mind, drawing closer to her. Anxiously, she exchanged a look with Peter, who made a snarky expression in the direction of Hook as if to say: "Don't worry – you know what a grouch he is."

The captain's glance found the broken chair, then the detritus around it. He loathed disarray and dirt – especially someplace that should be cleaner than clean! Great Neptune's beard – he was expecting to EAT that stuff! Gritting his teeth, he decided that the moment had come when the feud between the girl and the cook had to stop. Yes, before he lost his last thread of patience and did something he would deeply regret later. After all, good cooks were rare – hell's bells, here in Neverland they were literally non-existent! And even if the girl was getting on his nerves, he didn't want to handle her too harshly.

"Come with me!" he ordered shortly, then his irritated gaze found three more Hobgoblins, peeking nervously from under the table up to him. "You three stole eggs and apples?" he asked sharply, and the little creatures gulped and nodded. "Then you, upstairs, too!" He turned, pushed through boys and Elves, and stomped upstairs – watched by several more Hobgoblins and a few mice, which would normally get cake crumbs from the small house-sprites. "NOW! The day is swiftly upon us!" the pirate-captain shouted, and went straight to his room.

Knowing better than to refuse a direct order of James Hook, Wendy (with her new friend still attached to her) and Cookson followed him; Peter at her side, and the others at their heels. The fairies jingled quietly to each other, while they glared at the other three Hobgoblins, tails and ears still drooping as they plodded between the boys. The rest of the troop crept quietly behind the gang, careful not to be seen.

Hook turned at his doorway after the principles had entered and addressed the other boys and pirates. "This is not for your ears!" he snapped, and slammed the door in their faces. The door was opened only a second later again and Peter slipped into the room, accompanied by the two fairies. "I will not let Wendy alone with you and this animated eyesore!"

"You can be glad that she IS with me, boy, otherwise Cookson would have already turned her into a beef tartar," Hook growled back, then frowned at Giliath, who had also entered the room. Knowing that he couldn't send the Elf away, Hook impatiently signaled Smee to close the door again, and turned toward the two gamecocks. "Explain your appearance, Cookson, with as little decoration as possible!" he ordered shortly.

The ship's cook nodded and swallowed the angry lump in his throat. "T'is damn Hobgoblin t'ere, Cap'n, 'e stole me eggs, bread and many ot'er t'ings wit' dose ot'ers. I caught t'em as I wanted to pack some provision for t'e group t'at goes to t'e ship. And t'en, as I had t'is one and intended to scold 'im, t'is damn … t'e girl came an' attacked me!"

"To scold?" Wendy repeated disgusted. "You tried to kill him, you --!"

Next moment, she found Hook's index finger in her face, his irritated blue eyes in front of hers. "You will hold your tongue, little one!"

Wendy held her breath for a moment, before she humbly said: "But the cook is so big, and this one here…"

"This one is nothing more than an ordinary thief!" Hook grated, which made the Hobgoblin frown.

Peter, who stood near the door with arms crossed, barked a laugh. "Spoken like a true pirate!" He met the menacing glance of his nemesis and smirked. "Nothing a thief hates more than being stolen from!"

"Don't compare our guild with those petty filchers, who only can live by stealing like rats!"

The Hobgoblins' eyes widened, before one of them dared to beep: "You, sir, have befouled and besmirched our charmed reputation quite long enough, by Gloin's galumphish! We be no rats! An' hadn't y' noticed, but y' have fair enough food to feed the good Queen's army, and wouldna miss the few wee pieces we have taken, had not that ugly sorry scurvy son of a horse raised the clamor of a carousing kelpie! In the bald face of such calamitous cruelty and selfishness, we could not help but tease."

Hook stared down at the runt, whose ears had started to ascend again.

"Tease? A few pieces? I doubt there's even a biscuit without your markings!" he snapped.

"But he's right," Wendy said softly. "They are so small and there is enough food for--"

She stopped and lowered her eyes when the leader's scowl turned her way. "Hold your tongue!" Then he turned toward Cookson. "Wendy attacked you?"

The ship's cook nodded, his face contorted with hate. "T'is time I dint e'en see 'er comin' afore she t'rew a potato at me 'ead."

"You were going to flatten him with a frying pan – coward!" Wendy shouted indignantly, and Hook lost the rest of his patience.

"If you don't shut up, I'll gag you!" The Hobgoblins gasped, then peered up at the captain, frowning threateningly. The girl had helped them, and for this they were very grateful! At his harsh words, Wendy had paled, and Hook immediately felt the pang of regret. He didn't want her to fear him --!

Dammit all to hell and back! It was happening again! Her sweet face, eyes and lips be damned! He would have to be willing to wake up ALONE rather than have HER, of all people, lie beside him! He moaned inwardly -- again. No, he hadn't thought that, hadn't he? By carbonate of soda, he was a pirate-captain, for murder's sake, and she only a child! Where was that cruel side of him when he needed it?

Of course, Peter knew nothing of Hook's inner turmoil, that the buccaneer was losing the same fight the boy was with his feelings for the girl. "Just lay one finger on her, codfish, and you'll have my complete attention!" Peter growled.

"Why, I'd be delighted, Pan!" the pirate shot back, glad for the distraction, and stopped Giliath's opinion with the words: "I don't need Elvish wisdom just now, so stay out of this!" Then he turned his attention once again to Cookson, fighting for control. "What about our provisions?"

The ship's cook shrugged. "T'ere's still plenty enough for us all, Sir, but y' seen t'e kitchen! It's a mess!"

"Then you know what your next assignment will be," his commander answered, turning toward the three Hobgoblins. "And you! Do you know what we do to those who steal from us?" The three gulped again and shook their little heads. "Well, the rules are simple: If you steal from a pirate, then--"

There was a loud knock at the door, and Hook took a deep impatient breath, nodding at Smee. The old Irishman went to the door, opened it and saw several of his comrades and the boys pointing toward the floor. There, the bo'sun found a dozen Hobgoblins standing shoulder to shoulder, and one of them held a white flag – a sign even a pirate acknowledged. Sighing, already aware that Hook wouldn't like this, Smee turned toward his captain. "Sir? A delegation t' see ya!"

"A delegation? Of what?" This time Hook was truly taken by surprise. Smee opened the door wider and allowed the little folk in, all looking nervous. Hook growled. No! Please not this!

Wendy's reaction was the polar opposite. "Oh, how sweet!" Peter snickered and exchanged a glance with an amused Giliath, while Tink shook her head.

Hook just stared at her. "Sweet?" he repeated, disbelieving, and as he caught her shining gaze, he sighed in frustration. This slip of a girl had no idea what moochers those 'sweet' creatures were! Small, yes; curious-looking, yes; but as aggravating as pepper in your snuff.

The first Hobgoblin waved his white flag, while several others ran to the first three. "We would share words with y', Dark One," the first peeped, and Hook – too perplexed to answer – crossed his arms in front of his chest. "It is not our practice to speak with mortals, for we find them most ungrateful and amazingly ignorant of our help. But, as you have taken our friends into your questionable custody – our fair folk find ourselves with no other choice."

The pipsqueak sounded angry, and the captain's eyes narrowed. "I do not recall inviting you to live here. And if you choose to remain here, in this castle, you and your people can consider yourselves fortunate that I tolerate you."

The Hobgoblin scowled up at the cook, somehow appearing intimidating, even from that height. "Oh thou fair-skinned and unfriendly intruder, my family and friends have dwelt within this precious great pile of prodigious stonework since it was first raised over the dancing waves. 'Tis not at thy brutish bad-mannered behest that we will depart our ancient and antique home! From time long past we have engaged in accommodating arrangements with the large mortals who seek to share our abode, but such a happy and helpful understanding is nigh well impossible with such as that egregious mortal over yon!"

Cookson growled, but shut up when he received a sharp glare from his commander. Hook took a deep breath. "Consider yourself lucky that you have come under the white flag, Hobgoblin. Otherwise I would teach you how to address your host!"

The older Hobgoblin (apparently the speaker for the little troop) regarded cool the look of the blue eyes so far above him, before he replied, "I'll say nae more but this, man, y've taken four of us and we want them back."

The laughter that came from Hook's smug expression was decidedly dry. "You want them back? After what they've done to my kitchen?"

The speaker, his red hair salted with white, crossed his short arms over a barrel chest. "Mayhap we might make a bargain, you and I: The three of them over there put everything back in order and we'll help instead of harass and hinder your cook within the next days, even if he offends us. For that you let the three go. All right?" Clear and captivating honest, the little creature confronted the captain with eyes as direct and piercing as the Captain's.

Hook harrumphed, a crease deepening between his eyes. "And you would then consider us even?"

The Hobgoblin shrugged. "As I did tell y', we've resided here from the first, and we've found, somewhat regretfully, that being without humans is tedious and tiresome, a tad too tame. An' so, we rejoiced among ourselves when y' first graced us with your presence, as well as your cockamamie shenanigans. Mayhap we could get along. You, sir, are different. You're not e'en a smidge like yer men." He cocked his head, smiled charmingly, and added: "Y' be of a type we like to help, which 'tis nothin' to sneeze at, I assure you. To be sure, in times past, ye might have had it far more comfortable. We might be able t' confound and confirm that. Just ask the boy there, and the Master Elf. They know us well enough." He bowed deeply to Peter and then to Giliath, who kept a thoughtful hand over his mouth, doing his best to hide his amusement. Yes indeed, Giliath knew how 'comfortable' Hobgoblins could make a place – usually a tactic reserved for mollifying the victims of the trouble they caused from time to time.

"You find it boring without us?" Hook repeated, thunderstruck.

Peter burst out laughing. "Here's the one place you're wanted, Hooky, so enjoy it!"

Hook gave him a sour look. "The same goes for you, too, boy. Shut up!"

"Set y'r heart at ease, Sir," the diminutive speaker said kindly, sounding almost reasonable. "Children speak from the heart. But returning to my very generous and kindly offer. Having many helping hands in the kitchen would be a great assist to your cook." He turned toward Cookson. "Our apologies for the mess, sir, but such frisky four over there are still young and were … uh … a tad … boisterous."

"Boisterous?" the captain asked, incredulous. "Quite an understatement!" Suddenly he realized that all eyes were directed on him, waiting, asking, expecting. Again he moaned inwardly, feeling a headache growing behind his eyebrows. Why him? He sighed. "What I really want is to kick you all out of here, literally, one by one. But there's no more time to waste." He stared at the three malefactors. "You will help my cook. I know that many creatures live in this Castle that I haven't invited, but I've tolerated them – more or less – until now. So, if you expect to keep your comfortable home here, then you will put everything in order! And afterward I don't want to see even one miserable red lock of hair until I am gone from here, or I will use you all for target practice! CLEAR?"

The younger Hobgoblins nodded, clearly relieved. Hook pointed toward the door. "Then out with you, and call yourself lucky that I'm in good mood. Otherwise you would end as harpy-food, which I would gladly hand-feed to them!"

"Good mood?" one of them whispered and got a knock from his friend over the little head, knocking off his hat.

"Shut up, Freddy!"

The spokesman bowed again. "We appreciate and applaud your generosity, sir." Then he looked at Wendy. "We thank you, too, lady-child. Y'r quick action saved one from us from a disgusting demise. We appreciate children with open heart and goodness. Should y' ever find y'rself in need our aid or assistance, we'll be there for you." Then his eyes found the fellow she had saved. "You know y'r duty. Y' now serve the noble lady for saving you." He followed his comrades, who sauntered to the door, chattering in their funny voices as if on an afternoon outing in the middle of a forest.

Hook pressed his lips together and shook his head. Had he really let them go? He had gone soft, that was certain! "Mr. Cookson? Show your 'assistants' a bucket and mop, and when I inspect the kitchen in one hour, there will be not a speck of dirt or dusting of flour. Do we understand each other?"

Still quite angry, but knowing there was no arguing with his captain about a direct order, Cookson nodded shortly. But he couldn't help himself and pointed at Wendy, who was still holding the reason for the mess. "What about 'er?"

"Leave Miss Darling to me!" Hook answered, turning flinty eyes on her. "Don't worry, Cookson, this time our pretty troublemaker will have to learn about the consequences of foolish acts!"

Wendy paled again, then felt the Hobgoblin tugging at her collar. "Don't be afraid. I'll help you!" he whispered, and the girl gave him a tight smile.

"You, and what army?" she murmured back.

The little guy straightened proudly his tiny shoulders. "Just wait and see. We handled the ugly one. This one won't be a problem."

"You squeak too soon," Hook said sharply, who had heard the little exchange of words. "In the end it will be you who'll learn how hard a floor is!"

As soon as Cookson and the swarm of gabbling Hobgoblins had left the room (they could hear the cheers of the boys outside the room), Hook turned toward Wendy and her new friend. Slowly he circled her. (This would have frightened her if she had not seen Peter's and Giliath's reassuring expressions.)

It was only then that Hook noticed that she wore different clothes – including his shirt. Well, he didn't mind, but he couldn't remember that she had asked him for permission. Of course she still needed it. And for the first time since he had known her, she had 'done' her hair, and it emphasized her tender face. He appraised her new outfit, saw the Elvish dagger on a strange belt around her slim waist, and automatically compared her with one of them. Yes, she did look like one of them – tender, beautiful, soft… and so proud. And... And it finally came to him that he still had to rebuke her. He cleared his throat. "So," he said with unnerving calmness. "You attacked one of my men – and I dare to say without the need for self-protection."

"Being threatened with a carving knife and the words 'I'll slit your throat' seems reason enough for protecting myself!" she answered, her voice less firm than she wished.

"After you pelted him with a potato!" Hook added.

Wendy nodded to the Hobgoblin, whom she was finally able to set down onto the floor beside her. "Only to protect him."

Hook pursed his lips, ignoring the small creature completely. "You enjoy living dangerously, Wendy, don't you?" Not knowing what answer he wanted, she simply bit her lips and looked at him, while he continued. "This time it was you who started the fight. I cannot and will not mediate that kind of dispute any longer! I've warned you about it yesterday, and I thought you knew me well enough to conclude that I don't make empty threats." His piercing eyes reached to her soul, and Wendy felt her mouth go dry.

"I do know you -- a little," she whispered. "And I know that you've shown me more kindness than I ever expected from you."

"Piffle!" the boy growled.

The pirate glowered at Peter's grimace and rolling eyes, then ignored him. This time it was the girl who had to be taught a lesson.

"Please, Captain, I simply couldn't stand by and watch Cookson kill him! And … and when he took the knife and said he would slit my throat, I … I panicked … and fought," Wendy finished shyly.

Hook nodded. "As always!" He cocked his head. "I admire your will to fight instead of running away like any other girl might do, but it is time that you learn to take responsibility – as I told Cookson, who is in the right this time."

"Saving a life is not a crime!" the eternal boy cut in, and returned the threatening glance of his enemy.

"Stay out of this, boy!"

"Wendy is under MY protection, so I will not watch you punish her for doing something that should have been YOUR duty!"

"_My duty_?" Hook gasped. "It is my duty to save a miserable thief and attack my own man?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you attacked one of your crew," Peter scoffed.

"_Shut up_, boy! And as for the punishment of our storyteller, you don't have to worry. I will not tear off her pretty head."

"As long as it remained over water this time …" she murmured and the pirate stared at her. Was she mistaken, or did she really seeing something like guilt in his forget-me-not blue eyes? No, this couldn't be!

"The heart of it: you took the part of the Hobgoblins. So I think I should impose the same punishment. You will help in the galley. Perhaps that will teach you to take my threats seriously the next time." After a short pause for effect, he continued. "Cookson will stay with my men and Billy Jukes will lend a hand on board. It's possible you'll appreciate Cookson's job afterward."

"I do appreciate his work. He's a fine cook, but he's also an ill-tempted, craven--"

"Getting thumped in the face with a potato would ruin anyone's mood!" Hook said. "To say nothing of watching one's kitchen being reduced to chaos, and bearing the responsibility of informing the captain of missing food -- nothing any seaman wants to go through!"

Wendy was silent now, feeling much as she did when her father disciplined her. But there was more going on here. She didn't want Hook irritated with her. Not that she was afraid he would hurt her. No. She knew deep down that he wouldn't do this, but she enjoyed being able to interact with him without his usual threats and bad temper, and she didn't want to lose this. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and bowed her head.

He ignored her peace offering. "So you have your assignment. Nothing here is free." He saw her stricken expression – like a lost lamb in the middle of a storm. Even before Peter snarled "That's enough, old man!" and Giliath added gently, "I think she has understood you, Captain," Hook felt himself softening toward her – again.

Ignoring the other two, he lifted her face with two fingers under her chin, and grumbled softly, reluctantly, "You might even enjoy it. Billy Jukes has a sunny nature, and will distract you from your worries about the others.

Wendy swallowed, and whispered again: "I apologize."

The buccaneer nodded. "Indeed you should! A girl as clever as you should think before acting!"

"Perhaps I should use you as my example?" she murmured.

He saw the hopeful smile tugging at her lips – and sighed as he felt a smirk rising to his eyes. Even now she had a saucy retort ready, and he felt his anger melting away. God have mercy on him! He could NOT stay irritated with her!

"What about your other visitor?" the Elf asked, feeling now was the best time to change the subject to the other "little" problem had hand. "I don't think your cook would appreciate his assistance in the galley."

The pirate watched the bogey attached to Wendy's leg, while Peter approached the diminutive intruder. His checkered trousers, linen shirt and green jacket were still liberally dusted with flour. Hook made a face. "No, Cookson would not tolerate its presence in his beloved galley – quite understandably." He shook his head and glanced at Wendy. "You've gotten yourself into a fine mess, beauty!" he sighed, frowning as he met her forlorn gaze. He didn't like to see her looking at him like this. Not any more. He most definitely preferred her shining eyes. "If you truly have saved his life – and, seeing the state of Cookson and the kitchen, I'm inclined to believe that you have – then you have acquired a living shadow."

Wendy, not quite sure if Hook's anger had truly passed, asked quietly: "What do you mean?"

Peter grinned. "Well, if someone saves a Hobgoblin's life he'll stay with that one until the debt his paid."

"Paid?"

"Yeah, until he saves your life."

Shocked the girl stared at him, and then down at the small creature, who beamed up at her. "Yes, safe you are as a baby bird nested in a high stone tower!"

Seeing Wendy's thunderstruck face, the both fairies giggled, while Giliath sighed compassionately. Even Hook seemed to show something like pity – and that made Wendy suspicious. "So … what's so bad about that?" she asked with a tiny voice, fearing the worst.

The pirate rolled his eyes. "You are now responsible for a walking talking stomach!"

"Hobgoblins eat LOTS," Peter added enthusiastically.

"And they have the curious habit of prying into everyone else's affairs," the Elf explained, but Wendy could see the amusement that sparkled in his green eyes.

"Oh," was all the girl could say, while she looked again down onto her new bundle of responsibility. "Oh dear, I appreciate your good intentions, but you see … I'm going to the ship now and … and I don't think that it would be the right place for you."

"I'm sure it will suit me perfectly," he cheeped back. "We Hobgoblins are so small, so slight, so undersized that we can fit in nigh everywhere."

"Exactly the problem!" Hook grumbled, before addressing Wendy again. "You are responsible for him. For every shenanigan he pulls, you will have to face the music. So do yourself a favor and keep him under control. I don't want to return to an empty larder, a chaotic galley and an unnerved team of gunmen."

Wendy tried a smile, "I'll do my very best."

Hook stared down at the small fry, who looked back at him with the most innocent expression possible. "So, runt, if you really want to help our little lady, then stay out of trouble!"

The Hobgoblin saluted, which made Smee and Peter break into guffaws and Hook rolled his eyes. "You'll see," the small creature beamed, "I'll be worth a whole handy houseful of servants! Come on," he urged the girl. "I'll help you pack!" He unwrapped himself from the girl and hopped to the floor and ran straight into the leg of the vanity. "Ouch!" he squeaked and found himself seated beside it. He held his head and whimpered.

Wendy, already melting with pity, hastened to him and knelt beside him, while the others laughed. Even the pirate-captain chuckled, but turned instantly serious when he realized what he was doing.

"Let me see," the girl said softly and lifted the petite face of her new friend, gently pulling his hat off and observing the bump from his first 'accident' in the kitchen, and the second one starting to redden.

The Hobgoblin whimpered another tiny "Ouch" and looked up to her with teary eyes. "We'll find you a cold compress," she told him softly and the troublemaker sniffled a little bit.

Peter crouched down beside their new ally. "She's really is good at this," he said. "What's your name?

The Hobgoblin bit his lips, before he said, almost ashamed: "Bumblyn!"

Wendy tried very hard not to laugh, while the boy, Elf, fairies and boatswain chuckled. Hook stared down on the two children and their new friend, who seemed an unlucky fellow, and mocked, not without humor: "How fitting!"

TBC…

Well, now you have met Bumblyn. The idea accured to me weeks ago as I 'stumbled' over one of his folk on a webpage. The little guy will cause more trouble, but also will have a chance to save the day. Next chapter our allies are going to leave the castle (finally) and will face new dangers and new helping hands. Neverland's Battle will enter the next (and almost last step).

Until the next update (this time not so late)

yours Lywhn


	23. Two Paths, One Destination

_Dear Readers,_

_thank you soooooo much for the much and nice reviews. I am happy that you like Bumblyn (and the rest of my story - grin). Your reactions make it easy for me to write more and more, even if it is on a later evening after work. _

_So, now has the moment come the allies are leaving the castle. There is so much they have to do. I hope you're going to enjoy this chapter as well._

_Have fun_

_yours_

_Lywhn_

**Chapter 22 – Two Paths, One Destination **

The activity had calmed to active efficiency in the dining room, as the pirates and boys returned to packing their belongings. They were interrupted again, as Wendy and Peter emerged from Hook's private room, accompanied by the two fairies, a chuckling Giliath and a miniature troublemaker accompanying Wendy, holding a cloth on his head. The other Elves looked questioningly at their comrade. Giliath shrugged with a wide grin, and murmured something about "_Fíriel_" ('mortal girl') and "_lûth uin aes-mebi_" ('charming beggar,' as the hobgoblins were called in the Elvish language).

The other Elves nodded, laughing, and went back to checking weapons. The boys were delighted to learn that Bumblyn was the new addition to their little group. Talking with him, they were surprised to learn that his folk were distantly related to Goblins. Slightly gawked at the cute little creature. "Your people are related to Goblins?" he gasped. "But you're nothing like them!"

Bumblyn snorted. "Indeed we're not! Those great, ugly, lumbering biguns with --"

"Biguns?" John asked.

Bumblyn shook himself. "Our word for the oversized, stupid people, for the most part, our names for humans like yerselves. But seeing that you all are most kind, considerate and caring, I'd never bestow such an ungracious title on such as you." His tail was twitching in graceful arcs behind him, and he captured it and held it close.

"Why do you catch your own tail?" Curly asked.

The Elf spoke up. "That is quite useful when hiding in cupboards or niches, when the owner of the house has lost patience with their pranks and attempts to chase them out of the house," Giliath explained, who had approached the children, and the Hobgoblin scowled at him. The boys giggled, while Wendy just smiled and winked at Bumblyn. "Are you ready?" Giliath asked them, and the boys nodded.

Michael and the Twins were standing near Wendy, looking as glum as the day before school term begins. The Elf pointed toward Thalion, who was speaking with two of his men. "Those two warriors will accompany you back to the ship." His warm gaze moved to the girl. "They will keep an eye on the four of you. And Captain Hook has given Mr. Jukes definite orders how to behave." He cocked his head. "I do not believe the Captain is still angry with you."

Wendy looked up at him. Could the Elf read her mind? This reassuring comment was quite welcome, because she was uncertain and hoped that the captain had forgotten about her misbehavior.

"Oh happy day," Peter mocked. "Hook isn't angry! Who cares if the old codfish hates himself, along with the whole world or not."

Unintentionally, the boy had 'hit the nail on the head,' as Giliath knew. No matter what species you are, you only can like others when you're at peace with yourself – and Hook was miles from that. One part of him loathed himself, another was full of bitterness, resenting the life he was forced to live. The Elf knew that the buccaneer would never accept that he, Giliath, knew him that well, but during their contact the night before, Giliath had seen the reason for the mortal's anger toward everything. The only exception was the girl, and the Elf knew why. And he would never reveal it, for the sake of all involved, thereby handily sidestepping Hook's denial, Wendy's shock and Peter's flaming jealousy.

Giliath cleared his throat. "Our group will depart in the next minutes. The darkness outside has changed into a dim twilight, so that you're safe from harpies. The most dangerous part of your journey will be from here to the edge of the woods, being out in the open."

Wendy nodded and sighed. "I really don't want to go," she whispered and looked wistfully at Peter. "Can't I please come with you?"

He swallowed, feeling a lurch in his chest. Her look could melt stones. Before he would have given in, but there was something new in him, something unfamiliar but too strong to ignore: responsibility. He was responsible for her; for her safety and that of the smallest boys. He couldn't face himself if one of them got hurt – or, even worse, killed. "Please," he murmured and lowered his face. "Don't."

"I understand," she answered quietly. "When you set your mind on something, nothing can change it."

He blinked at her. "No, it's not that. I … I'm afraid for you. I couldn't stand seeing you injured or dead! You're too precious for that!" The words had left his mouth before he was conscious of them, and blushed fiercely.

Wendy's eyes widened, her most brilliant smile lighting her face. "As you are to me!" she whispered, bent forward and her lips barely brushed his cheek.

Startled Peter shied back. "What – what's that?" he asked nervously, his gaze fixed on her pouting lips and treasure in the right corner of her mouth – his thimble … his kiss!

"You told me last night that S'Hadh wouldn't have a chance if you got one more thimble from me. Well, we wouldn't want to give him that chance, now would we?"

A roguish smile twinkled in her eyes, which Peter couldn't resist. He felt something in his stomach like a swarm of butterflies that flew up and spread glorious color completely through his whole body – almost alarmingly strange, but too wonderful to waken the wish to fight it. "No," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. "No, we wouldn't want to give him any chance at all." He watched her coming closer and then, suddenly, her lips brushed over his – soft and shy. Peter thought his heart would burst out of his chest. Without thinking clearly he took her shoulders and pulled her closer and closed his eyes, feeling more alive than ever before and –

"OUCH!" he yelped and stepped back, setting a flushed Wendy free, while he rubbed the back of his head. "Tink! You miserable jealous goat!" he hissed – an insult he had picked up during one of his visits in London. The fairy flew around them, her eyes flashing, her expression furious, her ringing shrill. "I will thimble Wendy whenever I want!" he hissed at his fairy-friend, turned and grabbed a surprised Wendy and kissed her full on the lips. Instantly his anger vanished and warmth spread through him, then loud applause sounded around them.

The boy and girl parted and looked around. They were surrounded by Elves, pirates and boys, each giggling or grinning or laughing or clapping or chuckling according to his temperament. Aurora smiled, Tink stared open-mouthed, Bumblyn guffawed and Giliath rubbed his chin. "Well, I suppose we could say that he finally made up his mind."

Wendy felt like disappearing into a crack in the floor. "Tsk tsk, Wendy, what would Mother or Aunt Millicent say?" John teased.

"The same as if they'd seen you and Tiger-Lily!" she snapped back, and John blushed to the hair-roots.

Smee chuckled heartily. "Don't let her get to ye, lad," he smirked at John. "She only wants to take the attention from herself."

"What's all this then?" Hook's voice broke in.

Michael crowed, without thinking: "Peter kissed Wendy!"

The captain peered at his young nemesis, who turned red from his hair to his toes. "And once again he is pink!" the buccaneer half teased, half growled at him, while the little green devil named 'Jealously' jabbed him.

Peter shrugged and grinned. "Well, Tink said … I mean, it was only a good bye … no, not a good bye, but … uh … you know …"

Hook smirked, unable to hold it back at Peter's clumsy explanation. "Yes, I know. All children are curious, aren't they? And such a pretty teacher makes the learning fun."

Wendy felt heat rising in her cheeks yet again as she met his eyes. Defiance, anger and an odd kind of yearning lay in those forget-me-not blue depths, and sent a prickling down her spine. Quickly she lowered her gaze, while Curly laughed: "A good school for sure! I only ask myself, what Miss Fulsom would say about such a teaching method." He elbowed Slightly and Nibs as they joined his laughter, imagining Wendy's teacher who adamantly opposed any signs of affection.

Giliath, who felt Peter's and Wendy's embarrassment as if it were his own, laid gentle hands on their shoulders. "Don't let them tease you. Showing a true affection isn't wrong, but one of the most wonderful and underused policies in the world. Without it, darkness would find it very easy to win the ancient battle of light against dark."

Peter stared at him. "Giliath, do you remember for what I said to you when we first met?"

The Elf grinned. "Now lad, that wasn't a complicated sentence."

"No, it was a riddle!"

"Riddles are constructed to encourage us to search for answers," Giliath responded, looking smug.

"Do you really think I would need another riddle as this, what the prophecy means?"

"Sometimes one riddle shows the way to the solution of another."

Peter moaned. "Giliath, pleeeeease!"

"Maybe you should listen to what your friend is saying, Pan," Hook grumbled. "It would be a miracle if you did, but you might learn something from it."

Peter looked at him askance. "If you are so fond of riddles, then _you_ solve it."

"What riddle?" Twin one asked.

"Yes, I haven't heard one," Twin two added. Wendy sighed and rubbed her forehead, while the other boys giggled.

"Since our 'prince' and his sweetheart have made their heart-wrenching 'good byes', we should finish our preparations," the pirate-captain snorted and turned on his heel to leave.

"You really should work at your morning-moods, Hooky!" Peter called after him.

"Oh, they are splendorous," the buccaneer shot back, "otherwise I would have laid our beauty over my knee, taught you a few well-chosen manners, and would have kicked the willies out of those Hobgoblins!"

Bumblyn cleared his throat and crossed his small arms in front of his chest. "We have no willies, sir!" he peeped, irritated. "We are helping hands, a true godsend, if you biguns would stay out of our way!"

"Helping hands?" Hook sneered. "You create chaos wherever you go!"

"Then I'll prove it to you!" the Hobgoblin yelled, his high voice shrill now. "Come along, now, and see how I fetch Wendy's cape and carry her belongings!" He stomped toward her pack, still throwing nasty looks at the captain – and ran straight against the table-leg. "_Hamlemenenhinuslicusiniouslanityshliveginglevenabilicuroincentinity!"_ he cried, and rubbed his head, while in the shadows, eyes rolled and the little folk moaned quietly.

Everyone in the dining-room had gone quiet and stared at the little creature, until John shoved his spectacles back on his nose. "What did THAT mean?"

Bumblyn grumbled in a tiny voice: "Shit!"

-------------------------

"The creatures of Dark has been forced back into the shadows. They avoid daylight as much as possible and this is to our benefit. If we make haste, we'll make it to the woods before the deadly breath once again whispers over the island." Nihal glanced toward the cliffs, nearly black in the eerie twilight. Even the snow was lackluster, looking dull instead of enchanting, a smothering blanket. The Elf took a deep breath and tossed back his silver hair, then he looked at the four children, Bumblyn, standing at the gate of the Black Castle. They were awaiting the arrival of the rest of the fourteen pirates, still shoving supplies into their rucksacks and taking enough arms to fight off Napoleon's whole army.

Wind again tore at their clothes, howling over the wild cliffs onto the frozen sea below; but for once it was not snowing. Nihal glanced at the girl, and smiled. She wore his leggings, and seeing her in this outfit, hair pulled back as his own was, he was touched with affection. Human females could be pleasant to look at – sometimes. But their appearance hardly ever compared to their Elvish counterparts. But this girl was exceptional. If not for her ears and her heavier footsteps (even there she was graceful), she could have passed for one of his folk. She glowed with an inner light like the children of his people did, and she had the courage and depth of emotion that distinguished Elves from humans.

He smiled, too, at the Hobgoblin beside her, anticipating the many surprises they could expect from him. The fact that Wendy stood up for the little creature awoke Nihal's good will. He looked forward to accompanying the girl, her new 'servant' and the smaller boys to the ship. Their presence would distract him from the rough way of those primitive pirates.

Unaware of the observations of the smaller warrior, Wendy shivered as she pulled her cape closer around her and looked at Peter, who stood beside her. The moment of parting had finally come. "Please, I have many more stories to tell you," she said quietly.

"Stories about me?" he teased, and winked at her.

The girl tried a half-hearted smile. "Hundreds. And hundreds more to come."

The leader of the Lost Boys grinned. "I gave you my promise, Wendy-lady, and Peter Pan always keeps his word." He tapped the little pouch that hung at his belt carrying the pearl that had once been her tear.

Wendy frowned in a false sternness. "If you get killed, Peter Pan, I'll never forgive you!"

He scratched his head. "Well, all the more reason to drive him out of Neverland and to come back to you." Her eyes made him uneasy, and quickly he turned toward the Twins and Michael. "No trouble!" he warned them. "You'll answer to me for any reports she brings back! Clear?"

The three saluted. "Aye, aye, Peter!"

Hesitantly taking Wendy's hand, he told her, "_You_ be careful, too. And don't worry about the pirates. There are still the two Elves. Any problems, see them."

Wendy nodded and pecked Peter quickly on the cheek before she turned to Giliath and Thalion. "I say you 'good fortune,' Thalion," she said softly, and the Elvish commander bowed toward her.

"Fear not, lady. This is not my first battle, nor will it be my last." She touched her fingertips to her lips and then to his heart. His eyes glowed.

Lingering, she turned toward Giliath and wrapped her arms around his slim waist. "You must not be hurt," she murmured, and the Elf returned her embrace with a soothing tone.

"If Milady wishes this, then it is indeed my command," he answered, amused. Then he cocked his head. "_Lissenen ar' maska'lalaith tenna' lye omentuva_ – sweet water and deep joy till next we meet," he gave her one of the colorful Elvish farewells.

Smiling, she looked up into his moss-green eyes and his tender pearlescent face; his hair dodging around him in the wind. For a moment, wrapped around him, she felt the incredible power this man possessed. It poured through her limbs to her heart, spread into her soul and suddenly all fatigue, doubt and fear vanished; replaced by quiet assurance. She didn't see it, but the color of health flowed into her face. For this moment, she knew that Giliath had shared his own strength with her, as he had done with Peter, as he had done with Hook.

_Hook!_

He stood beside Giliath and watched her with an expression she couldn't discern. Hook had been kind to her. More than that, he had saved her life twice, had defended her against Cookson, gave her shelter, food and even his own garments. He had warmed her last night and agreed to let her stay on his ship, in his own quarters, which she could use freely. He had shown her a side of him she never thought he possessed. A pirate, yes – fearsome, fierce, hard and sometimes even cruel – but also human; a man who could be gentle and who seemed to yearn for intimacy and warmth. She wasn't so young as to miss why his hard look softened when she spoke with him.

Wendy disentangled herself from Giliath's generous embrace, giving him a wink before she turned to Hook and said quietly: "You too."

He lifted a brow. "Pray tell, what do you mean?" He saw the smile lurking near her full lips.

"Be careful, and don't get killed."

Hook's brows rose. Did she really mean what he thought? "Would you care?" he asked, and something in his eyes showed her how important her answer was.

Her smile widened, while she nodded. "More than I can say. Keep your powder dry. And let Giliath take care of your wounds." There wasn't time for her to change bandages that morning, and Giliath had offered the captain his help. It almost came to harsh words between Elf and man, until Hook had seen the reason of it, and the Elf had re-anointed the wound and replaced the bandage. This had been reported to Wendy by Curly and Tootles, who had overheard Hook and Giliath.

Hook rolled his eyes_. 'How the devil has she heard about that incident?' _he wondered. "It's nearly healed."

"And it will finish, if you behave … I mean, if you let the healer take care of it."

The buccaneer saw her blushing, and felt amusement rising in him. "Your tongue is almost as quick as your mind, m'dear," he grinned, and he saw the flash in her eyes. No, Wendy Darling would never submit; that he understood. And, God help him, he liked it. But she was talking again. "I want to thank you again for all you've done – for us, I mean … And for me." She glanced up at him again. "I didn't mean to insult you this morning. Are you still upset with me?"

The pirate-captain stared at her. Was he upset? No. Not any more, as much as he might have wished it. He couldn't stay angry with her – and God and all the angels help him if she ever found out! Lifting his hand, he stroked her cheek, relishing for a moment in the softness of her skin. "No," he answered truthfully, before he smirked. "I simply added it to your bill."

Wendy giggled, then turned serious again. "I mean it, Captain. Be careful."

He felt himself getting lost in the dove-blue eyes. Honest care and concern lay in those blue depths – a concern he had long desired, but found so unfamiliar that he didn't know how to react. He nodded shortly. "Leave my ship in one piece," he grumbled.

The girl winked at him. "I shall. After all, the _Jolly Roger_ is a beautiful ship – and that's the only reason you'll find her in one piece upon your return."

She caught him off-guard – was she really joking with him? – then he gently chucked her under her chin. "Just try, me hearty! Just try!" Billy Jukes had just joined the group. "Take care of her," the Captain growled at him. "You know what'll happen otherwise."

The gunmen made a face. "Aye, Sir."

Hook growled something else, turned the girl around and gave her a soft whack on her bottom, causing her to squeak. "There you go, kitten. And don't go poisoning my men with your cooking. I need them!"

"Captain!" she protested, her cheeks growing pinker, "I _do_ know how to cook!"

"You'll have to prove it."

Peter watched the two with growing uneasiness. By the tails of the merfolk, what was going on here? Hook joking with Wendy? And why was she so concerned about that pirate? Yes, he had been helpful, but wasn't she, well, overdoing it?

Tink hung in the air beside him, grimacing in satisfaction – her Peter, jealous for a change! – then turned toward Aurora, who would accompany them through the caves. The two fairies bade farewell in their fairy manner, then Aurora took her place on Wendy's shoulder. The girl welcomed her, following Nihal and Emorlhi – the other Elf who would 'watch their back.'

The pirates hefted their baggage (mainly dragging small wagons and the like, giving group the appearance of intending to deliver provisions). Michael and the Twins called 'goodbye' to their friends and followed Wendy; Bumblyn toddling beside her, carrying an enormous knapsack on his back.

The Hobgoblin turned back and looked upward, and waved enthusiastically with his hat, red hair dancing in the wind. Peter glanced up to the battlements and saw two or three dozen little people standing there, also waving at their departing friend, their cheeping voices snatched away by the winter air. The boy sighed after the children leaving, already feeling the emptiness at their parting. "Be careful," he whispered. "And don't worry. This will be a glorious adventure, worthy of wonderful stories!"

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The catacombs of the Black Castle were as dark and eerie as John remembered them. While he followed the others down the steep slippery stairs, he tightly held lantern, cautious of every step before he took it.

They had left the habitable part of the castle after the others had vanished between the cliffs. He felt uncomfortable being parted from them, all too aware that his sister was heading for a pirate-ship, of all things! Yes, the Elves would keep a sharp eye on her, but the thought of her being there, in their galley – subject to their rough jokes – made him angry. Wendy! In the galley! John mumbled foul deprecations at the tall form in front of him. How could the captain do that to her? He _seemed_ to care about her well-being – as far as that dark and sinister man could 'care' about anything – but to send her to the galley was … was … malicious! And all this because of that stupid little gnome she had protected from Cookson ...

Cookson! John saw him limping up ahead of him and grinned, remembering he was beaten by a small Hobgoblin. He was glad the ship's cook was assigned stay with them, and not with the others, elsewise he would surely worry about his sister's safety.

And another thing – she and the others had to cross the entire southern part of the island – an island full of dangerous creatures! Thalion had spoken with Peter and Hook, and they decided that the quickest way to reach Pirate's Cove – if you couldn't go by boat – was to walk along the cliffs along the coast until the woods began; then through the woods north of the Indian village, to the marshes, and from there across the frozen sea to the ship. It was a route that would take a day, considering the snow and ice. John had been shocked to learn that they wouldn't get started until late morning, which meant that they would reach the ship by nightfall – barring anything happening.

Of course, the Elves were right. The path along the cliffs was the most dangerous part of the journey, because they were exposed, and subject to attack by the harpies. The faint daylight, filtering through the heavy clouds was their only protection, and when the darkness returned, they would be safer among the trees.

Their passage across the frozen sea was another issue entirely. By then, it would be night, and they would again be out in the open. But the Elves had had an idea – guiltlessly foolhardy and clever. They would cover themselves with the tents of the Elves, the pale grey seemed to melt into its surroundings, and would hide them during their trek across the ice. Possibly. It _could_ work. Too bad they couldn't use the same method when traversing the cliffs, for the way was narrow and dangerous. They could slip, the cloth could get caught. Any number of things could happen while they were under there that would cause them to lose their balance and fall to their deaths.

As if echoing his worries, John gasped as his foot slipped on the worn slippery stairs and he almost fell on the man in front of him – if it not for Smee, just behind him. The old Irishman displayed quick reflexes and caught the boy before he could fall. "Y' alright, lad?" he asked.

The eldest Darling-son nodded, swallowing hard. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he wasn't watching the steps. "Y … yes. Thank you, Mr. Smee."

The bosun smiled. "No more woolgatherin', lad."

John's gaze wandered to the frozen sea. On a normal Neverland day, warm waves were continually heard splashing into the lowest level of the catacombs. Now only the crunching of plates of ice competing for space could be heard. Feeling cold, he drew his cape around himself and stepped to the edge of the staircase. Beneath him he saw a large rock rising up out of the ice – the selfsame place where he, Michael and Tiger-Lily had been chained. Alongside it, facing the portal with the gate, was the stone where Peter had lain when Hook almost killed him. To his right, the boy recognized another steep staircase – the staircase Wendy had descended, warning Peter with her startled yell before the pirate-captain could shoot him from behind. The memory was so vivid that her cry seemed to echo about the chamber once again. _'Well,'_ John thought. _'So much for 'good form' – shooting someone in the back is quite the most unfair thing to do!' _

He felt Peter's eyes on him from below. Both friends exchanged a look, each reliving that day. They both had bad memories of this place. Unconsciously, Peter rubbed the thin scar he received that day from the pirate's metal claw. He had shown a brave face toward his mortal enemy, hadn't revealed any of the horror he felt while the blade sliced him, drawing blood. Fearlessly he had mocked Hook's promise that to kill him, telling Hook that to die would be an awfully big adventure.

Now the eternal boy knew that those words had been foolhardy. He had learned what it meant to face death when he lay at Hook's feet. It was an experience he didn't want to repeat. Yes, since then he had been in mortal danger repeatedly, but they all seemed pale compared to those moments – moments he would never forget. And not only because he faced a cruel death at the hand of his worst enemy, but because of his very first experience with a thimb … a kiss. Those moments were the most terrifying in his life, and also the most wonderful.

"Still wandering around in dreamland, Pan?"

Only the slight tensing of his shoulders betrayed how startled he was – thinking about his mortal enemy and hearing that selfsame voice beside him. Especially now that Hook was an ally. He turned to look into the face of the man, dark in the dim light of the lanterns. Mockery sparkled in the man's eyes, but not threat – something he was still not accustomed to. He knew Hook was remembering that day as well. _'Strange that someone who hated you so thoroughly could know you so well,'_ his mind whispered. Covering up, he shrugged casually. "Just thinking about the uses of these catacombs. Once they were a trap, now they could lead to our freedom."

Hook's brow rose. "What a surprise, Peter Pan having deep thoughts. Are the Elves rubbing off on you, boy?"

Peter gave him that insolent grin (the one that infuriated the pirate the most) and answered, "Well, Hooky, if an old man like you can learn new tricks, why not me?"

The buccaneer scowled at him, "At least I do learn – unlike yourself, ragtag."

"Don't you have other names for me? You've thought of a whole list for Wendy."

"Jealous, Pan?" Hook taunted. "Indeed, there are many names I could call you. But why should I waste my time and energy thinking of names for a ridiculous brat such as you."

Peter, walking ahead of him, whirled around, eyes flashing. "Maybe I am a brat in your eyes, but only because you, the big bad pirate, can't even catch a boy!"

Hook's left hand shot forward took Peter's throat, drawing him close. "How's that for catching you, you miserable excuse for a 'leader'?" he snarled.

"You pathetic old man, you can't even see that—" Peter shouted, but was suddenly stopped, as another voice cut in – sharp and annoyed this time.

"_Dineh_! – Be silent, both of you!" Giliath stepped between them, his usually agreeable face showing his irritation. "We approach the entrance to S'Hadh's domain. And if you two continue to shout like schoolchildren on holiday, then we might as well have gone around to the guarded entrance! We all could have died that much quicker, and we would have avoided all that strategizing!"

After a moment Hook released the boy, Peter's lips compressed to a thin line.

"That isn't over, churl!" Hook hissed, much more quietly.

"Gotta have the last word, don't you, pirate?"

"How would I know if you're finished with your chirruping!"

"You--"

"ENOUGH!" Now the Elf was more than angry. "You're putting us all in danger, you fools!"

Hook stared. '_What has that pointy-eared fop just called me?'_

Peter glared at the Elf in the same manner. It was Hook's fault not his!

Giliath returned their glares firmly. Suddenly, they both exchanged glances, shot him one and the same offended look, and turned their backs to him, walking the rest of the way down the stairs side by side and wearing their noses at the same height.

Giliath paused, then blew out a frustrated breath, shaking his head at their performance. They were at each other's throat at any opportunity, but if either was attacked, even verbally – then they stood together as one. Smiling grimly, the Elf looked at his friend, and Thalion returned it. _Humans!_

Only minutes later, they stood beside the stone-dragon, its paws looming over them. The creature sat upright, its claws turned toward the ceiling, its long muzzle open as if it wanted to devour them all in one bite. Queasily, Hook looked up at the figure. One of its claws was broken off as the crocodile snapped at the stony paw where he lay, screaming for help. (It wasn't a memory he liked to visit. Very embarrassing.) You could still see the marks made by those gigantic teeth on the stone. The buccaneer shuddered. Even now, after he had killed the monster, it sometimes haunted his dreams.

The boys now encircled their friend and leader, who was talking with Tinker Bell. She pointed under the stairs, which led around the dragon, and Peter took a lantern from Nibs and lit the dark niche. At first he could see only blackness. A swish of cloth, and the familiar scent of tobacco and the stuff that Smee slathered on his face after shaving told him Hook was next to him. "See anything?" he asked quietly; the Elf's warning still on his mind. Giliath might be right, but his gigantic ego still smarted. How dare this … this overgrown fairy call him a fool? Ancient or not, there would be consequences!

Peter shook his head, then reconsidered. "Shouldn't we see stones?"

Hook frowned, then his eyes widened. "Yes!" He shook his head. "I can't believe it. I investigated these catacombs thoroughly when we first arrived. But I never saw that this hole is far too dark."

Peter chuckled. "Well, so much for your celebrated --"

"Don't say it!"

Man and boy scowled at each other, until they were distracted by the breeze that came from the niche, making the flames in the lanterns dance.

"Wind?" The buccaneer frowned. "Raise the light, Peter." The boy did and Hook stretched out his metal claw and met … nothing.

Behind them, Tinker Bell jangled impatiently, urging them forward. "Yes, Tink, we can see it," the eternal boy said.

"We're not fools!" Hook added, and they heard the Elf chuckling behind them. Both looked over their shoulders at Giliath's smirk of self-satisfaction. In this moment they understood that the Elf had tricked them. By including them both in his stinging rebuke, he had drawn them together against a 'common enemy.' Peter and Hook drew apart, annoyed.

"That screams for revenge, Giliath!" the boy growled, not nearly as threateningly as he intended it.

"My thoughts exactly," the pirate-captain added, then asked, "Can you swim, Master Elf?"

Giliath fought the laughter by biting his inner cheek. "Yes. Why?"

Man and boy grinned the exact same smirk when they said in unison: "Ever heard of 'walking the plank'?"

---------------------------------

The darkness was complete, nearly palpable. It seemed to swallow the lantern light in the gloom around them. The telling of that tale of that journey would be tedious indeed, recounting stubbed toes and cracked shins, replacing candles, numerous dark-dwelling creatures that scuttled away from their lights. For hours they marched at the quickest pace they could, led by the fairy's glow. Every one had been cautioned to hold their tongues, and for the most part, they obeyed. But this clinging night made everyone uneasy.

Even the Elves were edgy. No, their faces did not reveal this, but they were only masks – and Peter saw it. _They_ were nervous, and that made _him_ nervous. They all walked in pairs, alternating between the pirates. At first the buccaneers had grumbled about being assigned 'nannies', but later were very grateful, because the Elves' sharp eyes could even pierce this darkness, helping the men avoid many of the protrusions from above and stumbling stones beneath.

The light of the lanterns cast only small circles of light. At the beginning it had been interesting, for the world beneath Neverland was strangely beautiful – even if the Elves didn't appreciate it – but after hours on end, stones grew boring. Especially for someone as vivid and curious as the eternal boy. Peter walked beside Hook, only Giliath and Thalion ahead – and, of course, Tink. They had taken two short rests and a stop for food by this time. "How far, Tink?" the boy whispered, and the fairy made a rude noise before she jingled something back. "What? Not even a quarter of the way?" he gasped and Hook made a face.

"Quiet, boy, or do you want trolls or Goblins as company this evening?"

Peter stared at him and then at Thalion. "Must we really be quiet the whole time?"

The Elf frowned uneasily. "No, but please use whispers, and as little as possible. Voices can travel miles in caves, and we don't know if there are hostiles near."

Sighing, the leader of the Lost Boys nodded and moved forward after the glimmering fairy into the darkness. His thoughts wandered to Wendy and the others. Were they all safe? Had they made it along the cliffs into the woods? And then, would they be safe there as well? He doubted it. The woods of Neverland were always full of surprises – and now evil surprises. Yes, there were always creatures to avoid (like that crocodile!) but Peter knew them well enough and had how to steer clear of them. Wendy and Michael were still strangers to the island, and the only ones who could warn them were the Twins. And the pirates.

And the Elves! Peter was grateful that Thalion had sent two of his warriors with them. Even if the Elves were strangers to Neverland, their experience in battle should help them recognize danger early enough to protect his friends.

He hoped.

And while Peter walked at the side of his deadly enemy, following the lead of his fairy and the tall Elves; the girl and boys, a rose-fairy, a Hobgoblin, the pirates and the two Elves wandered through a snow-bound forest, watched by hidden creatures – animal and mystic – straight toward the marshes and a frozen sea, where a large galleon waited for the return of its crew.

None of them, not even the Elves, spotted the two ancient eyes that watched them; blue as the deepest lake, mixed with the violet of a spring lilac. A cloven hoof was set carefully between two roots, while warm breath misted in the cold air. A long tail swung forth and back and two sensitive ears listened carefully to the steps of the little group that walked between the trees…

TBC…

_Curious? Yeah, that I wanted. At the next chapter you'll meet another new character (is someone out there from Cornwall or south-west England? If so, please be cautious; it is someone from your area - smile) and another one who HAS to be in Neverland (in my opinion). Andthere will be a lot of action._

_Until next_

_Lywhn_


	24. Of Pixies and A Powerful Protector

**Chapter 23 – Of Pixies and A Powerful Protector **

Wendy looked around her. Darkness, snow, eerie dancing shadows in the dim light of the lanterns, and distant howls were all she could recognize. There wind found them, even among the trees, not as bitter as in the open, but she could hear it whipping the treetops. Even if she walked in the tracks the Elves and men made, her passage through the deep snow was laborious, and she tried very hard not to think about a warm feather bed, for there would be little else until they reached the _Jolly Roger_.

For hours now, they had wandered through woods and the thin twilight of day had disappeared into the dark of night. She wasn't sure if it was really night or if the cloud cover was just too thick to allow a hint of light through. Three times, the Elvish warriors had given alarm, and they had hidden in the remains of the verdure. How the Elves managed to hide all their tracks from eyes overhead was a miracle to her. Perhaps it had something to do with their own gentle magic, or they simply masked the tracks with a sightless spell. The girl couldn't answer those questions, and at the moment, she didn't care enough to ask them.

There had been two rest stops. Nihal and Emorlhi didn't need them, which was obvious, but they admired the humans for fighting so stubbornly against such severe conditions. The first halt had been after they got past the cliffs. Loose stones hidden by snow and ice had been dangerous, and men and children had wobbling knees when they finally had reached the woods. Peering off one side far down onto a frozen sea, fighting for balance against a steady cold wind in the face, had worn them out.

The second halt was only an hour ago, even if it seemed longer. They had eaten something then, but they hadn't dared to light a fire for tea to warm up. They had to cross the wood as silently as possible, attracting no attention. That they weren't espied until now was almost a miracle. Since all signs of daylight had gone, the screeches of the harpies were again heard from time to time, and once the Elves quickly spread the tents over them all, and they all heard heavy footsteps passing and vanishing in the distance. Wendy hadn't heard anything, and she wondered how sharp the hearing of their race really was.

Concentrating on trudging forward, the girl swallowed a yawn and wiped several snowflakes out of her eyes, then thanked the Lord yet again for the Elf's leggings. They kept her warmer than expected, and the batiste shirt Hook had given her was far warmer than her nightgown. She carried the leather dress in a bundle, not sure if she could wear it aboard. The leggings were more comfortable, and she expected that it was easier to move about in them on the ship easier than in a dress.

Her thoughts often turned toward Peter and the others. How far had they gone underneath Neverland? Had their infiltration been discovered, or was their passage still a secret? How was Peter tolerating the stony caves without light? She had never been deep inside a mountain – the cave the days before was still her only experience with such – but she didn't need much imagination to understand that there, deep beneath the island, the darkness was absolute. She knew that her friend would get bored – something that easily happened to Peter whenever something took too long.

And Hook? How must he feel, far away from his ship and the freedom he was accustomed to? No fresh breezes, the air smelling of earth and stale water, no rocking planks beneath his feet. He must feel worse than Peter. Giliath and Thalion – they didn't belong there either. They would feel shut away and would miss light and the cool wood. For a moment she had to smile as she thought about John and Slightly. Both boys were so curious, and —

"Wendy? I'm tired," Michael murmured, stumbling along beside her, and he felt a small hand touching his hair. He looked up and saw that Bumblyn, perched on Wendy's right shoulder, had bent down and stroked his head.

The Hobgoblin had walked by himself until they had reached the woods, where the snow was taller than he was. So the girl had offered to carry him – barely weighing anything – and he'd sat on her shoulder since then. "Michael-lad, y' must be bold 'n' brave 'n' courageous. We'll make it," Bumblyn whispered and gave the boy a comforting smile, while his tail twitched.

Wendy winked at her little brother, every bit as tired as he was. She took his hand. "Come, not so far and we'll be at the ship, where we'll get a tasty dinner."

"Not so far?" Billy Jukes followed behind her, his commander's strict order still ringing in his ears. He knew that it would be a free trip to Davy Jones' Locker – ice or no – if something happened to the girl. His captain had a soft spot for the lass, that was certain, and Jukes really wanted to walk the earth a little longer. He shook his head at the girl's words. "Lass, we've not reached t'e marshes yet. T'en we've to cross t'em down to t'e beach and from t'ere we've to walk over an icy sea. I don't t'ink t'at we'll make it in t'ree or four hours."

Wendy shot him a glare, as much to say, 'Did you have to tell him that?' and saw his sheepish grin. It wasn't easy to read Billy Jukes, because of his many tattoos covering his face, but she knew that he was one of the younger pirates and his smirk proved it. Giving him a weak grin back, she pulled Michael closer. "Just keep going, Michael. I'm certain that we'll stop again soon."

"Hopefully," Twin One murmured.

"I can't feel my feet anymore," Twin Two whimpered.

Wendy sighed again, but before she could say something, Bumblyn on her shoulder squeaked "Look out --!" when she collided with another body. Startled she looked up and met Nihal's amused, reassuring gaze.

"I will bear your brother and Emorlhi the other boys. They have struggled valiantly through heavy snow and their legs are much shorter than ours. They have every right to be tired, but we have no time for another stop. So I think, it is for the best, if we carry them."

Wendy gave him a grateful, tired smile. "Thank you so much, Nihal_ - Diola lle!"_

The Elf looked surprised, hearing his language. Though a bit stilted, he clearly understood her. He assumed that Giliath had taught her that phrase, and bowed slightly. _"Amin naa tualle_, little one – I am your servant! "

Wendy blushed and watched how Nihal opened his cape, lifting Michael effortlessly in his left arm and closing the warm cape around them both. The boy sighed with relief and snuggled closer to him, laying his head on the Elf's shoulder. Emorlhi, almost a head taller than Nihal, smiled gently at the twins, opened his cape as well and lifted them both in his arms. The two little boys murmured a 'thank you' and were already drifting to sleep.

Aurora, keeping pace beside Emorlhi, smiled at the sleeping children – always so cute! Bumblyn watched the Elves, shaking his tiny head. "Elves. A mystery wrapped up in a puzzle! Sometimes so arrogant and cocksure you can't begin to bear them, and then they up and rescue a child from the snow."

Wendy glanced up to her little companion. "Elves aren't arrogant! Just different from your people."

"And ye don't know 'ow much!" Billy Jukes grinned, and touched her arm. "Come on, t'e galley is waitin'."

"Never too soon," Wendy moaned and trudged onward, following the pirate and the two Elves.

----------------------

It was another hour before they finally reached the marshes. Only days ago, water teeming with life played around the mangrove roots, and now muddy ice enclosed them. The lianas were covered with icicles, looking as if planted there from another world, seen in the dim light thrown by their lanterns and torches. The ferns, broad-leafed plants and thickets were blanketed and an insubstantial mist lay in the cold air; creeping through their thick capes. Wendy swallowed, an eerie feeling trickling down her spine. Normally, the marshes were full of sounds of life – birds, toads, flying fish and many others – but here was only deadly silence.

Marshes are dangerous places. Those who don't know them, or a safe way through them, get lost, with death often the consequence. But, as with most dangerous things, they are fascinating and possess a wild beauty. Marshes awaken promising whispers in forgotten corners of our minds; childish remembrances of adventure; promises of hidden secrets and mystical creatures. And, as it often happens, children are still able to see things grownups have forgotten how to recognize. And so it was no miracle that Wendy saw the dancing light first.

She stopped to take a closer look, and saw the little light dancing nearer, then it hid beneath a mangrove root, only to re-appear a moment later. "What's that?" she asked quietly and pointed at the phenomenon.

Billy Jukes, still walking with her, frowned. " 'Tis a fair hope it ain't no Will-'o-the-Wisp!" he grumbled, while Bumblyn twisted, looking around.

"Oh no! Them fanciful creatures'll misguide us, maroon us, deep in the marshes, where no one can find a happy way out! Poor Bumblyn! He will surely deeply drown afore he can repay his debts!"

The tattooed pirate growled low in his throat. "Shut up, ye wart! As if t'e Elves would follow a Will-o'-the-Wisp!"

Aurora, who sat on Wendy's other shoulder, narrowed her eyes – and then jingled, a frown between her brown eyes, already anticipating what was coming. Nihal and Emorlhi also espied the newcomer and stopped. Their sharp eyes recognized the little creature, too, and they exchanged glances. The twinkle had come nearer, and waited several yards away in the misty air.

Whatever this creature was, it was careful.

Wendy moved closer to the two warriors, curiously watching the newcomer, who came a yard nearer. Bumblyn moaned an "Oh, no!" while Aurora jingled something definitely derogatory.

The girl bit her lip and watched the little creature, about the size of a fairy. The first thing she made out was the pale-green skin, then long pointed ears and long limbs, a hat made of leaves and a short torn trouser and shirt, also woven of marsh reeds. Its overlarge eyes shimmered an odd green-braun over an upturned nose and a smiling broad mouth. It had no wings, but still it could fly, surrounded by green-white light. All in all, Wendy couldn't tell if it was naughty or nice, but nevertheless it was – in its own way – appealing.

It was Nihal, who broke the silence. "Greetings, Master Pixie. Do you join us to help?"

_A pixie!_ Wendy silently rebuked herself for not recognizing the newcomer sooner. She had read about pixies. Stories say that pixies are another kind of fey, not as nice as the star- and flower-fairies, but not as 'bad' as other kinds of the Little People sometimes can be. Pixies are natural tricksters, enjoy misdirecting, confusing, and tripping up the Big Folk. They cast a magical glamour over their eyes, so a human falling victim to their influence can't see the gate in a pasture-fence, even if it's 'under his nose.' The only way to protect yourself against a pixie's deception is to turn your cloak and wear it inside-out for a while.

Wendy knew these stories, that pixies were mischievous creatures, their tiny heads full of absurdities and rousing fun, but she also knew that rarely did they do real harm against humans, and that was only if the human had been foolish enough to offend them. (To tell the truth – they were easily offended.) So the girl watched it curiously, carefully, while it addressed the two Elves.

His high, clear voice was much like that of the fairies, but a bit clearer and so understandable for the humans, even if they were not familiar with the fairy's language. "No, _Megiltura_ – swordmaster," the pixie peeped, bowing deeply. "Only curious was I to see who dares walk the marshes in this dark, sinister time – and so late in this day."

The two Elves again exchanged a quick look. "We are as you see us, little one. Are you alone?"

The pixie nodded and sighed. "Lost am I as the others and myself started across the marshes at twilight. Some Will-'o-the-Wisp met I, who told me they here saw some lights, and so, hoping was I that they had seen my friends. But," it sighed, visibly discouraged, "seems it now that there was misunderstanding – or they simply did what they always do: Misleading. Verrrra misleading."

Bumblyn made a disgusted noise. "As if that perilously unpleasant pixie wouldn't do exactly the same," he mumbled, and Aurora agreed, her pretty nose wrinkling.

The pixie shot him a glare. "Much in common have we, bogie!"

"Bumblyn is NOT a blithering babbling bogie!" he retorted, incensed.

The pixie grinned. "Bogie!" he teased, then he suddenly stopped and stared at Wendy's other shoulder. Cocking his head, his face grew serious. He bowed again and said something in his own language. Aurora lifted one delicate brow and turned her head away. The pixie made a face, and flew to her. "Hey there!" he greeted again, this time in the human tongue, thinking she hadn't understand him. "Kailen am I."

The rose-fairy again pretended she hadn't heard him, and the pixie shoved his fists into his waist in the universal symbol of high dudgeon. "Know I how you fairies are snippy and snobbish, but know you no courtesy? Or forgot your mother to teach you manners?"

That did it. Aurora faced him glaring, and said something cold, rude. The pixie, Kailen, sighed. "Never have you been there! Long ago it was, before your time and mine, and not even here in Neverland! So, thaw, fairy. Alone you are, alone am I – and we both be Little People. Think you not it's time to forget an ancient, foolish altercation between your kind and mine?" He looked at her hopefully.

Aurora looked him up and down, made a sound something like "pht" and turned away again. The pixie shook his head. "Typical fairy - pretty but featherbrained!"

Wendy glanced at the Elves. "What is he talking about?" she asked.

Nihal smiled. "Our newest visitor speaks to the history between fairies and pixies. I will tell you the whole tale when we reach safety. Now we must hasten. Something dark approaches."

Kailen lifted his hat revealing the tiny fire-red shock of hair beneath it – and nodded. "Yes, dark, skeletal creatures in the marshes. Really nasty. Need you to hurry."

The Elf nodded. "_Diola alle_ – thank you, Master Kailen. Would you care to accompany us? A pixie alone in the marsh on a cold winter night is not safe." Bumblyn and Aurora gasped – did the Elf just invite a _pixie_ to join them? Had the Elf abandoned all sanity?

Kailen's face brightened. "Truly, yes, and thank you!" He looked at Wendy, seeing the girl for the first time. Giving her a saucy wink, he bowed, and Wendy – according to her schooling – made a curtsy. The pixie grinned in delight. "Hear not the evil words about my kind. Never would I mislead a real lady!"

The girl gave a nervous giggle, eager to get moving. "Thank you, Kailen. I'm Wendy."

Kailen flew to her right hand and gave her something like a kiss – she barely felt the tiny cool lips. "Your obedient servant, Milady!" She giggled again at his miniature elegance, and they turned to follow the Elves, who had already started on their way. "Master Elves!" he peeped. "Follow me through the marshes. And pay no attention to the sheeries and Will-o'-the-Wisps. Try they do to make you lose your way. Especially now. Find them you will in an evil mood indeed because of this winter."

Emorlhi gave a little smile. Pixies would be in the same mood, and if Kailen was speaking sincerely with them, then he surely was the famous exception that proves the rule.

----------------------------

They trudged deeper into the marshes where even the Elves had problems finding a path. Yes, it was important to have an experienced leader this confusing terrain, but even such as those who knew the marshes would be wary if they had to face _this_ topography. The snow and ice made it almost impossible to make out any differences and only the grey-green-white color of the ice revealed where water had been. But the snow blurred the border between earth and water.

Nihal and Emorlhi had split up – one at the front and one in the middle of the troop, making certain that none took a wrong path by mistake. Kailen, chattering almost the whole time, had suddenly grown quiet. His mischievous spirit felt the silent, dark danger, and – as they heard a low far-off growl – he flew to Nihal, sat down on a shoulder and clung to the soft fabric of the Elf's cape.

Aurora watched him and jingled something about 'bigmouth' and 'coward', but when another growl reached their ears, she squeaked and sought cover under Wendy's cape. Kailen glanced over the Elf's shoulder and snorted. _'So much to the famous courage of a flower-fairy!'_

As they struggled forward, they emerged from a frozen thicket and faced a large open area, a meadow the size of two or three football fields. After a moment to catch their breaths, they plunged ahead. Next moment, Kailen's eyes widened as several Will-o'-the-Wisps and sheeries flew at them, screaming at the top of their lungs, while the growling seemed to approach. The two Elves whirled around, dropped the boys (none too gently) and notched arrows in bows that suddenly appeared. Taking their cue, the pirates drew their swords. Bumblyn leaped from Wendy's shoulder, positioning himself in a protective manner in front of her, ears and tail betraying his alarm.

Emorlhi tried to figure out what the little creatures were screaming as they rushed toward them, clearly very afraid – for something that could scare a sheerie and a Will-o'-the-Wisp had to be quite nasty. Then the tiny creatures reached them and chattered at the troop, even if only the magic folk could understand them. Wendy peered at the Will-o'-the-Wisp dodging about in front of her. All she could make out in the white piercing light was a tiny white body, short white wild hair and enormous blue eyes.

The Will-o'-the-Wisp sang something (at least it sounded something like singing, something like tingling crystals), and the girl shook her head. "Sorry, but I can't understand you." Another creature flew to her – bathed in a blue-white-yellow light that seemed to take the place of legs. It had no hair but something like small horns, large eyes, a broad nose and pointed teeth. It didn't look frightening, but frightened.

Nihal finally realized what panicked these creatures. But before he could shout a warning, the enemy emerged from across the clearing – and lined up all the way across it, if their torches were anything to go by. Lots of them. Nearly as tall as a grown man, and thin, their skin (what they could see of it) was brown as old leather. Yellow eyes glowed under the variety of odd hats and helmets, and in the light of the torches, their long pointed teeth glistened. You could see extended ears on some of them, and little hair on any of them. Their clothes were leather and metal, their boots seemed to be iron, and some of them wore metal gloves. They were armed with swords, halberds and daggers, which they held in the air threateningly. A high-pitched gurgling sounded, accompanied by low growls and strange hissings and snarling, the sound of their unpleasant language. More and more of them crowded around the edge of the clearing, hissing and growling.

"_Utinu en lokirim_ – son of snakes," Nihal whispered. "Goblins!"

The three boys and the girl exchanged alarmed glances. Goblins! And there seemed to be over a hundred! "Sweet Lord, have mercy on us all!" Wendy whispered, her heartbeat and mind rising.

One of the Goblins stepped forward with an impatient gesture. Instantly the others fell silent. "'Hoy there, stinky mortals and 'noble' Elves! Y're in our domain! We ain't give no permission to pass through our land!" The other Goblins started to laugh.

"Your domain? Your land?" Wendy gasped aloud, speaking her indignation. "This is Neverland, Peter Pan's land, never yours!"

Nihal grabbed her shoulder. "Wendy, no!"

The leader of the Goblins stared at her – and chuckled. "Peter Pan, eh? That boy claims this whole land?" he sneered.

Wendy's voice rose. "He is the Prince of Neverland and you may not remain! He will teach you that."

The Goblin roared with laughter. "The Prince of Neverland? Where is dat Prince? Hidin' somewhere, shiv'rin' in fear, afraid t' face us?"

The two Elves frantically gestured for her to shut up, and Bumblyn pulled at her cape, but Wendy didn't listen. Her anger boiled, but she didn't fall for the trick the Goblin was playing. "You'll see him soon enough, and regret it!"

"Ah, 'ow da females are. I think you be very tasty – like all girlies." Another wave of laughter ran through the Goblins.

Wendy felt heat rising to her cheeks as Nihal tried to hold her back. "Try and see how tasty this girly is, you ugly, sun-fearing, cowardly poison-dwarf!" she hissed, eyes blazing, while she drew the dagger Giliath had given her.

Nihal's strong hand closed around her wrist, and he pulled her behind him, ignoring her protest. "What do you want, Goblin?" he asked firmly, his dark eyes hard.

"Not so much," the Goblin-leader grinned. "Payment fer yer tresspassin'. What say you, Elf, you and the whelps? Been a long time since we last had one of your kind as our 'guest' and the young're so soft. Some of us have old teeth and --"

He stopped, as Niahl started to chuckle. "_Lle naa haran e' nausalle. Lasta lalaithamin_! – You are a king only in your imagination. Listen to my laughter!"

Even the pirates had to laugh at that – Nihal's intention, and the very reason why he had translated his insult. Goblins easily lost their heads when laughed at, and knowing the buccaneers' love for insults and rough laughter, the Elf gotten the reaction he needed.

The leader of the Goblins frowned. "You dare laugh, Elf? Your head will hang from my rafters!"

Nihal laughed openly now. "What rafters? Do you mean the braces over those filthy holes you hide in when the sun rises? But I can understand you, and we even have to be grateful for your care."

A crease appeared in the indescribably hideous forehead of the Goblin, making it even more hideous. What the devil was that cursed Elf referring to?

"If the sun had to look upon something as revolting as you, he would hide forever behind a cloud to avoid repeating that terrible ordeal. 'Tis truly a shame that the sun doesn't know that you would die in its radiance."

The dark creatures snarled, hissing savage threats at them, grinding foul teeth together. "Uh … Nihal?" Wendy whispered, "you mock them?" The Elf gave her a brief glance and a wink, then turned coolly amused eyes back on their attackers. He knew exactly what he was doing. Angry Goblins didn't think straight, giving them their only way to escape – after all, their little group was seriously outnumbered.

"I'll take your head for that, Elf!" the leader hissed and dragged out his sword.

"Ready yourselves to dart to the right," Nihal whispered, and his order was quickly passed to their people. The pirates nodded grimly, while the boys pressed closer to Wendy.

"When I say 'now', run -- and don't look back," she murmured.

Bumblyn looked up to her, his small face pale. "I've sworn on my old dad's keen blue eyes to protect you," he said hoarsely, as if he needed to remind himself.

The girl forced a smile. "Just protect the boys. That would help me the most!"

The Goblins lumbered nearer and Emorlhi looked to the swarm of Will-o'-the-Wisps and sheeries gathered overhead. Wisps were mischievous creatures, expert at nasty pranks, and the sheeries loved to create trouble and to harm others, but they all knew that Neverland's future was threatened (and they desperately wanted the warm weather back, or they wouldn't survive). And "desperate times called for desperate measures," so the wise man said. The warrior sensed their need, and so he dared to entrust them with an important assignment. "Take the children and men to the coast. They must survive, no matter what. It's in your hands if Neverland will be free, and you can roam the marshes again under warm sunlight."

The cloud of lights peered about at each other, reaching a consensus, and then back at the Elf, nodding.

Nihal and the Goblin-leader were exchanging more insults, until the Goblin suddenly roared: "Enough, Elf!" From one second to the next, menacing hissing turned to a roar and the Goblins attacked.

Nihal and Emorlhi let arrows fly, the pirates raised their weapons, banging them together in a challenge, and welcomed their adversaries with a practiced attack-line. They were, after all, quite accustomed to fighting, somewhat relieved to face a familiar fight with a familiar enemy. The two Elves fought the Goblins savagely, attempting to create a path to allow the children and buccaneers to flee. The Wisps and sheeries fought enthusiastically in their own unique manner.

Wendy used her dagger, laying aside everything she'd been taught about decency. Hating to kill, she knew she had to protect her brother and the Twins – and herself. She was already aware that a dagger could not be used like a sword, for it allowed the opponent to come much too close. So she dodged under the Goblin that seemed to have taken it into his head to kill her. Imagine that, some cheeky uninformed Goblin, thinking he could overwhelm _Red-handed Jill_! She had defeated pirates, for goodness sake, and wasn't about to retreat in front of these leathered skeletons!

Bumblyn battled with no blade, holding his ground with his own manner of fighting. He used a cudgel, and every Goblin that dared to came near the boys – or Wendy – was met with a painful blow to his shin and lower regions. Suddenly, he received a kick from one of the ironshod feet, and landed between Wendy and Billy Jukes, who tried desperate to protect the girl's back, his captain's warning ringing in his ears. The little Hobgoblin rubbed himself and examined his painful tail. "_Napilonoskulinathlyienthargar Ailentuplaragiliensitlolienlehlmnamil_ – stupid Goblins!" he screamed and hopped about.

Then he heard the fearful clanging of a fairy and looked up. Only yards away, a bare-footed Goblin had trod on Aurora, pinning the rose-fairy into the snow, his own cudgel raising to finish her off. Bumblyn gasped and leapt toward her between all the legs, dodging a sword that could have split him in two, shouting "Someone help the fairy!" Above him a green-white shimmer – Kailen – fell like a shooting star and bit the Goblin on his huge ugly nose.

The Goblin yelped – that pixie's teeth were sharp! – and, bringing the cudgel up toward Kailen, managed to whack himself quite firmly on the face. He howled, dropping the cudgel and grabbing his nose. Kailen used that moment to snatch up Aurora and race with her into the air, up into the snowy branches of the mangrove near them.

Gently he sat her down on a branch, but she still held tightly to him. Yuck," he spat, "Goblin stink!" Kailen, still out of breath, grinned while he crouched down and held her. The fairy clung to him like a lifeline, clearly frightened. She had wrapped her tiny arms around him and had buried her face at his throat – a very pleasant thing, he had to admit. She smelled like roses on a warm summer day and her glistening pink-silver wings shimmered like a moonrise. She trembled, but calmed down a little as he carefully stroked her back between her wings.

Then his gaze found what was happening beneath them, and his eyes widened. "Oh no!" he piped. "They have no chance!" Aurora lifted her head and glanced down as well. She pressed one delicate hand before her mouth, gasping. The allies were surrounded and all tries to break through the hostile lines were to no avail. The two Elves fought like the berserks, but it was only a matter of time before the numbers would overwhelm them. The same with the pirates. They fought fiercely, but even a furious pirate couldn't win a battle against that many enemies. The children bravely held their ground, their Hobgoblin-friend helping them as much as he could, but the girl was tiring and the little boys were exhausted, only fighting defensively.

Aurora stared, horrified, then jingled. Kailen nodded. "Aye, but even the Wisps and sheeries, now dim. Done all they could, but are too small – we are too small! Only Little People are we!"

He helplessly watched nine Goblins attacking the Elves, while three others surrounded the girl. Two dozen more closed in on the pirates, more approaching from the tree line. The air was filled with the clashing of the swords, the snarls and growls of the Goblins fighting and those dying, and the panting and desperate cries of the others. But it was a hopeless fight, as the two tiny watchers on the mangrove realized in horror.

Suddenly a clear, melodious whinny pealed through the air, drowning out the hissing of the Goblins. Kailen and Aurora stared wide-eyed in the direction the allies had come, barely believing what they saw. The darkness yielded to a soft silver-blue light that drew near. Wendy had tumbled to the ground and was only saved by Cecco's cutlass, and now stared unbelievingly at the emerging creature that seemed to emanate moonlight and sunbeams – like the ambassador of light itself.

Cloven silver-blue hoofs barely marked the snow; long slender legs moved with absolute grace. A delicately curved neck, silver-white like the rest of it, bowed for a moment, while a long white tail moved like layers of silk in the cold air. A long mane flowed in the icy wind and large blue-violet eyes were gently fixed for a long moment on the girl. Then it lifted its graceful head and the flickering light of the torches and lanterns flowed like seawater over the pearled spiral horn that grew from above its eyes.

The meadow had grown silent. Even time seemed to slow down, because neither enemy nor ally dared to move.

The Goblins stared with growing dread at the white creature, the most powerful of magical beings in the known universe. The deceptive creatures of the marshes looked warily at the newcomer, Aurora and Kailen started to smile, the Elves forgot to breathe and the mortals waited in amazement. The wind quieted, and the only thing anyone heard was the flames guttering in the torches.

Breathless, they heard and felt and watched this living representation of youth, joy, and purity as it approached – the dark creatures in horror, the others with growing anticipation. This moment, this eternity in the tick of a clock, was encased in a glistening light, stored in their memories for the rest of their lives, to be taken out as if from a velvet-lined mahogany box and examined from new angles under sunlight and starry skies, stories passed on to children and grandchildren, richness too dear, too glorious for casual speech.

Wendy felt her young virgin heart contracting in her chest, then expanding as though preparing to leap from her in longing. It was she who broke the silence. "A unicorn!" she whispered, feeling the mixture of exultant joy and innocent piquant yearning.

And with that, all hell broke loose.

The unicorn reared up, its hoofs pawing the air, while the expression in its eyes changed to fury. The horn shone in its own light, while another whinny escaped the unicorn's throat – this time shrill, dark and dangerous.

The Goblins shouted in surprise and fright. As the white magical creature leaned into the attack, they panicked. Its hoofs pounded the ground as it ran directly into the swarm of Goblins, who turned to flee. Wherever the unicorn touched one, he screamed and whimpered, even if it was no more than a flick of its tail. Others not so lucky were run through and hurled away. The white light of the unicorn's horn now blinded them, and, shrieking, they covered their eyes, dropping weapons wherever they were. Panic-stricken, they fled for their miserable lives, back into the shadows where they belonged.

Few of them made it. The unicorn was everywhere; its hoofs whirling and its horn slicing through leather and metal. Wherever it touched one of the Goblins, the ugly creature got burning wounds. In only a minute, every last Goblin had fled or lay dead.

With quivering flanks and an angry snort, the unicorn watched them disappear through the trees at the edge of the clearing, its hoofs stamped, back turned toward the allies. The unicorn threw its beautiful head up and down, then bent and cleaned its pearly horn in the snow. When finished, it shook its head and turned around.

Still breathing heavily, the men and children looked with wonder on the white creature, the Little People grinned. The unicorn snorted again, this time softly, before it opened its mouth and asked: "Is anyone hurt?" Its voice was female – soft, tender and gentle.

The pirates dared not look straight at the magical creature; its innocence and beauty too much for their guilty sinners' hearts. And it hadn't only to do with the fact that they were criminals – phonies, murderers, cheats. No, for grownups who have lost the innocence of heart and the ability to see with the soul can't bear the sight of the purity of the unicorn. Most of them wouldn't even have recognized this most magical of all creatures when they saw one, seeing only an odd-looking pretty horse. The only reason they could even discern their rescuer was the time they'd spent in Neverland, confronted with different magical creatures. On the other hand, children were open to the wonders of the world, welcoming them with open hearts. And the Elves, Nihal and Emorlhi, propped their swords before them, kneeling before the creature and bowing their heads.

The boys gazed wonderingly at their rescuer, far too young, too innocent to recognize the unique conditions that inspired the appearance of the unicorn and also saved them. All the Little People were reverently silent, all eyes shining at the living source of Neverland's magic.

Wendy's reaction was the most intense. She forgot the pains and blows received during the fight. Her fatigue and fear blew away, like a feather in a strong breeze, as she rose and approached the unicorn as if in a trance. Tears stung her eyes, a result of the strange yearning that moved her – a yearning she had never felt before, so unfamiliar that she didn't even waste a thought for it. All her desire was fixed on the magical white creature before her, and the desperate need to touch it.

Nihal lifted his head as he heard her passing him, but he did not hinder the girl in her purpose. If she were only a little older, he might have been forced to hold her back, but she was still a child – and children were permitted to touch this creature.

The unicorn stood looking at the small mortal girl, and its mouth made something like a smile, while it lowered its head and whinnied gently. With trembling fingers Wendy reached for the incarnation of virtue, fantasy, desire. The unicorn touched her upturned palm with its soft muzzle. Absolute peace and reassurance washed over her; the feeling of security and warmth. The dreadful winter, the terrible fight with the Goblins, the doubts and fears, and the worry for her friends and brother were suddenly gone.

Putting aside shyness, Wendy stepped forward, wrapped her arms around the slender neck of the unicorn and buried her face in the long mane. Its softness reminded her of feathers, while its coat was like silk. The unicorn gave a small sound something like laughter before it bent its graceful neck toward the girl and laid its face on her back – a gesture similar to an embrace. The boys and Elves stopped breathing for a moment.

"Be not afraid, little one!" the gentle voice of the unicorn-mare murmured. "It is over. They cannot harm you any more."

Wendy didn't know how to answer, so she said nothing while she nestled against the unicorn. The white creature smiled again, allowing and enjoying the intimate embrace of the girl. It could feel her strong, brave heart, the love and warmth coursing through her soul, and the deep respect for all living things. Yes, such a mortal was permitted to touch the central power of the universe as Wendy did this moment.

Nihal and Emorlhi had risen and moved toward the unicorn and the girl, bowing deeply. "Milady, we owe thee the lives of our wards – and our own. We are deeply in thy debt."

The unicorn glanced with tender eyes at the two warriors and tilted her head. Her shimmering eyes seemed to hold the wisdom of the ages – far deeper than any Elf could fathom. "You owe me nothing, warriors of the strange world. The war between light and darkness has lasted from the beginning – and it will continue until the end. This battle was only one encounter in this war, a battle that drew this variety of creatures together and made even old enmities vanish into forgetfulness." She looked up at the branch where Aurora and Kailen still sat; the pixie's arms wrapped around the fairy's shoulder, which she allowed. Another smile seemed to reach the unicorn's mouth. "It even brought enemies together." She tilted her head again. "Tell me, my friend from the other land, have the little prince and his nemesis made a truce?"

Wendy lifted her head. "You know of Peter and Hook? Their alliance?"

She made a sound as if a silver bell had laughed, while Neverland's natives all laughed among themselves – indeed an odd collection of noises! "I am the beginning of all of Neverland's magic," the unicorn answered patiently, kindly. "The youth uses my magic to be what he is, and to become what he is capable of."

Wendy stepped back to could look into the unicorn's eyes. "What do you mean?"

The soft mouth near her ear whispered, "The secret of eternal youth? The happy thoughts to help one fly? Eternal spring? I am their keeper."

The girl gaped at the magical creature in whose eyes amusement glistened, before it turned its attention back to the Elves. "Come. There is still much danger ahead and you all are in need of rest. I will accompany you through the marshes. The Dark Wizard will not dare to send his servants against you again this night." Then it turned toward the boys. "You are weary, as is your sister. My back is large and strong enough for you all."

The Elves gasped. Never before had they known of a unicorn offering its back to ride! There were tales that told of virgins who could tame them enough to climb onto their backs, but never before they had heard that a unicorn freely gave its service like this. Bewildered, they watched as Michael and the Twins stumbled to the creature, murmured their thanks, and were set on the unicorn's back by Nihal.

Wendy swung herself behind them up, whispering a relieved "Thank you so much!" that was answered with a gentle snort.

Bumblyn grinned and winked at the unicorn, who made a face as if it would lift one brow. The hobgoblin then climbed up on Nihal's shoulder, who protested something about not being a mule, but caught his words at a glance from the unicorn. If she could serve the children, well, …

A minute later, they were on their way toward the coast. The Will-o'-the-Wisps and the sheeries accompanied them, clearly feeling far more secure in the presence of the unicorn. Normally they avoided the Lady, but right now, well, it seemed like a good idea. Warily, the buccaneers followed the unicorn with her riders, who had taken the lead through the snow and out of the clearing.

Yes, they had heard enough about unicorns to know that they could be trusted with life and limb, but as grown men, and, on top of that, pirates, they felt markedly uncomfortable. Billy Jukes watched the girl, who sat on the unicorn's back as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and shook his head. "Don't get it," he murmured. "She's a golden child – even more'n' Pan. Is t'ere anyone left who won't come to 'er aid and protection?"

Albino, stomping along beside him, grinned. "Nope! Even our cap'n seems to melt like butter in t'e sun when t'at pretty face over t'ere give 'im a look wit' t'ose blue eyes."

The tattooed pirate chuckled. "Aye! It's 'er luck and his bad luck t'at t'e lass is still t'at young!" Albino, Cecco and Mason snorted at that jibe, but before they could make reply, they were interrupted by a peeping voice and a ringing. "Really, Aurora, you exaggerate. Simply comforting you I was!"

The four pirates looked up and saw a disgusted rose-fairy flying past them, and behind her an impatient pixie. She said something in her bell-like language, and Kailen rolled his eyes. "I do not 'take advantage.' I save you!"

Aurora turned so suddenly that he almost flew into her. Shaking one finger under his nose, she jingled something angry and flew away, straight toward the unicorn, whose ears turned forward once again, while she gave an amused sound.

Kailen looked after her and then down at the four pirates. "Women !" he growled.

They all replied in unison with a hearty, "Aye!"

TBC…

Well, dear readers, you see: Where Wendy is, trouble can't be far. So do not fear that she has to face a boring time aboard. There will lay more trouble ahead. I hope you like Kailen and my description of the unicorn (I couldn't resist; there simply have to be a unicorn in Neverland).

Next chapter our dear Captain and Peter are going to learn that they don't hate each other that fiercely as they have ever thought – a big thing they have to accept.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and pleeeeeaaaase review.

Love you all,

Lywhn


	25. A Dream of Things that Might or Might No

**Chapter 24 – A Dream of Things that Might or Might Not Be**

How long had they walked this passage? Tunnel after tunnel, through openings as large as cathedrals, ignoring other openings, sometimes crouching, once crawling, searching a way through mountains of collapsed stones.

Peter couldn't say. He was miserably hungry for daylight – first that lingering twilight outside and now _this_. He couldn't fly in this cave, he couldn't talk the way he liked, couldn't scamper or cavort, couldn't even laugh out loud, needing to remain as quiet as possible – and it was deadly boring! He had even started to talk with _Hook_, of all people, just for distraction and, oh wonder, the pirate-captain seemed to crave the same things!

But then Giliath insisted they remain quiet, because S'Hadh's creatures had sharp ears and they drew ever nearer his domain. So, they walked without speaking for time upon time, hour after hour, men, elves, and boys left alone with their own thoughts.

Peter never realized that Neverland was so large. When flying, he could cross it in minutes, including a loop around the mountaintop, but now the island seemed to stretch itself like taffy deliberately to irritate him. The journey from the Black Castle to Pirate's Cove couldn't be that long, couldn't it? He remembered Tink's words, that they would need almost two days, and he really hadn't understood why. Sure, moving in completely darkness with only lanterns and torches was constricting, but he'd never believed it would make such a difference.

"Just how far away is that cave your fairy spoke of?" Hook's voice was a murmur.

The eternal boy gave him a forced grin. "I think she measures differently than we do. I hope she didn't guess wrong."

The buccaneer gave a disgusted snort. "How like a girl!" Peter clapped his hand over his mouth, choking back a bark of laughter, and for a moment, the two enemies shared a look of understanding.

"We have passed a great distance," Giliath said. "I have consulted with her, too. Fairies do indeed measure by their own standards, but I am familiar with what Tinker Bell intended. Another half an hour or so, and we might rest for the night."

Hook looked over his shoulder on Smee, who carried bedrolls, the satchel with Hook's shaving-utensils, comb, soap and a towel, and another pack with two bottles of a good wine the captain intended to share with the two Elves during their siesta. "Will you make it?" he asked and watched his boatswain's eyes widen in surprise.

Hook had never expressed any concern if he – Smee – could handle an order or if he was tired! "T'ank ye, Sir, I'll make it wi' a push," he mumbled, nearly stumbling in surprise.

Hook smiled and turned his eyes back to the path before him. Tink, on Peter's shoulder, had intentionally ignored the disparaging remarks regarding her estimation of time and distance. Both she and Peter glanced back at Hook as well. Peter, who was not practiced at holding his tongue, forbore a teasing comment this time.

Giliath was right. Even if it felt like another full day, they finally reached the end of the first leg of their journey. They had traveled the first third of the distance, and the pirates and the boys wanted nothing more than to sit down, rest their stone-sore feet, and have a nice dinner – or midnight-snack, or what ever time it was – and then a good sleep.

Rubbing their eyes, the Lost Boys and John glanced around. The cave was no more than a larger opening in the tunnel, washed out by a thin stream that splashed through it and on into a larger one. Beyond a shallow pool was a smoothly flowing waterfall, about a foot across, fed by the snow falling above, warmed by the mountain. The new watercourse that would accompany them on the rest of their way was enough to refill their water-bottles, allow them to wash, and provide water for cooking. As tired as they were, there was little of the good-humored jesting that usually happened between the boys at a meal.

Peter sat down on one of the rocks, flexed his neck and shoulders, and sighed. "Not one more step today!" he murmured, then saw Giliath looking around. The Elf looked as though something wasn't right. His gaze moved quickly back and forth, and his face was pale, with a thin sheen of sweat. He moved stiffly. "Giliath?" Peter asked, concerned, "anything wrong?"

The Elf shrugged and sat down beside him, unpacking his provision. The other boys took their places near him and their leader, and eating from the remaining Indian food, as well as from the pirates' supply. But the eternal boy still watched the Elf, and then looked more closely at the other Elves. Their faces had lost some of their ever-present serenity, and their movements were less graceful. Peter bent toward Giliath. "Come on, you can tell me. What's the matter?" he asked softly. He met the uncertain gaze of the Elf, and made a face. "Hey, you helped me out at my worst. Let me pay something back."

A weary frown touched Giliath's brow, while he held his cup of water tightly before him. He knew it would be unfair to deny his young friend the truth, considering how Peter had opened up to him. He cleared his throat and looked quickly around. Seeing his comrades were busy, he answered in a voice only the boys could hear: "Elves are creatures of forest and sky, wind and sun. To remain in the dark is … difficult for us. Not such a cave as on the way to the Castle, but these tunnels, with no openings to free nature ... It is much like being locked away in a too small room, without enough air to breathe. The walls here have no life. We are accustomed to hearing the conversation of trees, the whispers of grass and water, the presence of life in the animals, plants and the spirits of nature. We need sky above us, especially the sight of stars. Without this, our spirits can die – we are, even now, fading away ..."

"You … you have claustrophobia?" John asked, and color crept into Giliath's cheeks.

"What's … klossatropia?" Peter asked, and the eldest Darling-son smiled.

"Just what Giliath was talking about. It's a trapped feeling you get when you're in small rooms – or underground."

The eternal boy glanced at the Elf full of compassionate understanding. "I kind of know what you mean. When I'm in a strange room – like in Hook's cabin or Wendy's nursery – and the windows are shut, I am afraid I'll be caught. Is that what you're feeling, too?"

Giliath tried a half-hearted smile. "Similar. ou fear the loss of your freedom, but for us, it is worse. We are fading; our soul dies, and a body without a soul dies as well."

Shocked Peter stared at him. "But … you're immortal! You can't die!" He didn't notice that he had the attention of several pirates – among them Hook's – and the other Elves' as well.

Giliath looked into the boy's eyes; his own darkened in the lamplight. "You are misinformed. We Elves do not die from age nor illness. But two things are stronger than we are: the loss of freedom and a broken heart."

"A broken heart?" Nibs asked, unbelieving. "You mean, like, when you fall in love, and your love isn't returned --"

"-- or someone we love and are bound to dies, we usually die as well," Giliath finished, and saw the widening eyes of the boys. "Now you understand why we spend such a very long time choosing and getting to know our partner before covenanting ourselves with her. And you thought humans had long engagements!"

It was a small joke, but it didn't have the desired effect. Peter stared at him, unbelieving. "You can _die _from losing love?" Giliath nodded gently and the eternal boy glanced down. A thousands thoughts and pictures ran through his mind. He remembered the searing pain as Hook used those awful words, up there among the sails, to weaken him, reminding him that Wendy was leaving him. Or when he was finally caught … that he would die – alone and unloved. It almost had torn him apart. It had paralyzed him, had made him almost look forward to a gruesome death …

"Peter?" Giliath murmured, seeing the sad, hurtful expression in the boy's crystal eyes, his voice blending with the sound of the stream nearby.

Startled, he looked up, met the inquiring gaze of the Elf, and shrugged. "Nothing."

Giliath cocked his head. "Of a truth? I revealed to you my secret, so perhaps you would fain share yours with me?"

Feeling the curious glances of his friends – and several of the pirates – he hesitated. He had wanted to talk with Giliath about all this 'feeling' business for some time, and maybe now was the only – and perhaps last – chance to do it. The boy took a deep breath and jerked his head toward the way they had come. "Not here," he murmured, and rose.

Giliath also rose, but before they could leave, Slightly, who had been working with another Elf and Cookson, stopped them. "Dinner's ready. It's not elegant, but it's good."

That captured Peter's attention, and a grin appeared. "Dinner? I'm starving!"

His second in command blinked. "You sound like Tootles!"

His friend shrugged. "Hey, I have to regain my strength to grind that wizard back to Hell!"

"Peter!" the Elf scolded and the eternal boy grinned his famous smile.

"What? Do you know another place he belongs?" He winked at Giliath. "Come on! Immortal or no – you have to eat, too!" Smiling again, the Elf allowed the boys to coax him to eat.

There was little conversation during and after the meal. Not only because of the enforced silence. No, they were all tired. Even the Elves exhibited fatigue, but the boys knew now it had nothing to do with the distance, but with the cramped conditions. Two men and two Elves had the first watch, and would be replaced by comrades in two hours. The small fire had burned down and wouldn't be fed again, to minimize the risk of being discovered. Only two candles in lanterns remained lit, one at both ends of the group, and that was more for the pirates than for the Elves, who even could see in this darkness.

John, wrapped up in his cape, stared at the ceiling – or where it should have been, for he couldn't see anything in the darkness. His thoughts were on his sister and brother and the Twins. But something else bothered him: Tiger-Lily. He knew that the winter outside had grown worse, and that the Indian shelters couldn't keep that winter at bay. And then their provisions. The tribe had given them a lot of their own food, and John doubted that the warriors would find enough game in this weather to re-stock what the chief had given the children.

Was Tiger-Lily freezing? hungry? Was it still warm in her parents' hogan, or had the cold gotten the better of them? He knew that the Indians were accustomed to the wilderness, that they were 'one with the nature' as only natives could be. But, on the other hand, this 'nature' had now changed into something dangerous and deadly. And he knew from articles he'd devoured in the library since his last visit that even the Indians had difficulties in such weather. Here, in Neverland, it couldn't be so different. John knew that Chief Rain-in-the-Face and all the others were probably in danger. Including the beautiful girl who had captured his thoughts. She wasn't raised in a house made of stone, had not been taught to read and write, but she was well-educated in her own way of what she need to learn to survive in her world, and taught the elaborate etiquette of her tribe.

He knew that world he came from would still see her as a savage, but he didn't care. He had already learned that loyalty, honor and truth had nothing to do with skin color, but with way someone was taught, and with the heart. And Tiger-Lily and her people were – in his eyes – far nobler than the-so called noblemen in his world.

Sighing, he rolled into a ball to keep the chill of fear and worry away that had started to rise in him. Praying that the Indian girl was still safe, he closed his eyes, and as he drifted into sleep he thought he could smell the scent of wild flowers, leather and fresh grass, while the quiet crackling of an open fire awoke the memory of a fire in a tepee, and he happily went off to visit there, where an old woman stitched his brother's Taddy, and a pretty dark-eyed girl smiled shyly at him from across the fire.

Peter also lay wide awake on his pallet, wrapped in his cape, eyes open in the dim light. His thoughts wandered to Wendy and the others. Were they safely through the woods and the marshes to the coast? Where they already aboard, or did they still wander through the winter dangers? Had they been attacked or were they able to reach their destination without any interruptions? He didn't even dare think of the possibility of combat for the little group. But, deep inside, he simply felt that Wendy was alive.

Indeed, if something terrible had happened to her, he would have felt it. Somehow, they were – how did Giliath say it? – bound to each other, and for a moment he remembered Giliath's words about the "covenanting" of Elvish couples. Was it the same with him and Wendy – or something like it? He didn't know, but he would ask Giliath at the next possible chance. Deep in him was a strange turmoil. He needed to speak about it with someone!

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing. He knew that he would need his strength when the time came to face S'Hadh. Wriggling into a more comfortable position in his cape, he closed his eyes, and shortly drifted into a deep sleep.

--------------------------------

Wendy blinked and wiped her eyes free – again – of falling snow. The wind was back on the frozen sea, dodging between the perilous ice-floes. If not for the warm back of the unicorn beneath her, she certainly would have fallen unconscious. The boys in front of her were asleep. Knowing how dangerous this was, she'd tried to waken them, but the unicorn had stopped her. With her gentle voice, the magical mare had told her that the boys were safe, because they were "warmed with its goodness and love."

The girl looked back. She couldn't see anyone. The Will-o'-the-Wisp and Sheeries had said good-bye after they reached the coast. f course, the Sheeries had scowled, warning them that the next time they met, things would not be so pleasant between them. Sheeries loved to create trouble, and their greatest joy was driving humans into hysteria and panic. But still, somehow, Wendy had seen into their little hearts that they weren't wholly evil, because she had seen them afraid – afraid of the same enemies as she was. No, she would never trust a Sheerie – or a Will-o'-the-Wisp – but facing the same dark foe had brought them together, and somewhere, deep in their tiny hearts, was a good place. Otherwise they would have betrayed the allies, and not warned and helped them.

Then the long way over the frozen sea began. She couldn't see the pirates or the Elves. But they were there. Her eyes were simply tricked by the Elvish fabric that hid the rest of the troop, invisible even at that short distance. It was pure magic. She and the boys could not be seen from above because of the unicorn. Its powers covered the children as well – quite a benefit, since she could hear the hollow screeches of the harpies overhead.

Wendy sighed and turned forward again. She felt as though they were being carried into nowhere, because Neverland had vanished from sight only a hundred yards onto the ice. It was simply too dark and too snowy now to see anything at a distance.

Without the unicorn, they would have lost their way. Even the two Elves had shown uncertainty at first. Suddenly the unicorn made a soft snort and its gentle voice whispered: "Over there? Do you see it, maid?"

Wendy concentrated and then she nearly gave a joyful yelp. Directly before them was a large dark shadow – a shadow with four long spires which seemed to reach skyward. "The _Jolly Roger_!" she whispered; and never before had she felt luckier to see that ship. In minutes, they had reached one of the Jacob-Ladders which would allow them to climb aboard.

Above them, several lanterns cast a querulous glow over the main-deck of the galleon, proof that the six pirates who had remained aboard were on watch. That they had missed the approaching troop showed how well the fabric worked.

Nihal and Emorlhi lifted the sleeping Twins from the unicorn's back, while Cecco took Michael, keeping a careful eye on the magical creature as he stepped beside it. The blue-violet eyes of the unicorn had watched him piercingly, and the black giant tried very hard not to touch it. He felt the ancient magic that forbade him to lay one finger on the mare. It would have cost him his sanity – or his life. It is a law of the universe that none who is no longer pure in mind and soul or has deliberately given pain or death can touch the essence of innocence without paying the highest price possible. Oh yes, the children had fought, even killed, but only to protect themselves or help others. They never had done anything evil on purpose, and so the unicorn had accepted the small boys and the girl on its back.

Billy Jukes lifted his lantern and pointed to the ladder. "Two'v' ya should go at first an' take t'e tent-material 'long wit' t'em, holding it loose-like. We follow directly on t'eir heels, so it'll cover us all durin' t'e climb."

Nihal smiled. "A good plan." Then he turned toward the unicorn, who received the gentle fondling from the girl – it was hard to tell who liked it more. He said some words in his melodious language and bowed deeply, Emorlhi did the same. The mare glanced at them and amusement shimmered in her wide eyes. Then she softly snorted and lowered her head, almost as if bowing as well.

Turning toward Wendy, she nuzzled the girl's shoulder. "Take care, maid. Thy dangers are far from over. The Dark One's creatures do not dare to cross the ice, but the daughters of the storm are still near, and they do not flee because of a frozen sea. Perhaps they will come for thee and thy kin." She shook her head, and her mane and forelock danced, her mouth curving into something like a smile. "But I see the bravery in thine heart. It is thy best weapon. Hold it tightly, keep it close, and thou shalt defy even the wind-daughters." She lowered her head, and touched the outside of Wendy's hand with her horn, then carefully and slowly, slid it up her arm, across her shoulder, around her head and down to her other hand, like a consecration. Wendy felt the living cornucopia of strength and magic bless her, leaving behind a tingling feeling of light and power. Then the unicorn pushed her gently beneath the Elvish material, snow creaking beneath her boots.

"Will we see you again?" the girl asked; her heart heavy to lose the company of the unicorn.

The magical creature glanced directly into her eyes. "Perhaps yes; perhaps no. Even I am unable to read the future with certainty. But keep thou hope, and in sooth, we may yet meet again."

Then suddenly, without warning, it whirled around and was gone – so quickly that it vanished into the darkness before Wendy could blink twice. "Thank you for everything," she whispered; tears in her eyes. She heard a distant musical whinny, then felt a gentle hand on her arm and looked up into Nihal's face.

Bumblyn, who still clung to his shoulder, smiled secretly at her. "Unicorns have a soft fair heart for fairly-like females such as y'self. Certain and sure as the sun does shine I am she will see you again."

"He is right," peeped the pixie, who flew beside them, ignoring Aurora's sneer and her rebuke about 'What would a pixie know about unicorns?'

Wendy took a deep breath. "My thanks, both of you." Then she looked up the steep Jacob's ladder, looming up the ship's hull. "Oh my!" she breathed.

Billy Jukes grinned. "Come on, lass. One last effort and ye'll have it nice and warm." Suddenly he winked at her. "And us'n's're too tired fer a big meal. So, y'r granted a reprieve 'til yer first duty in t'e galley begins."

Wendy gave him one of her brilliant smiles (it almost made the pirate nervous). "Thank you, Mr. Jukes."

---------------------------------

_Sunlight – real honest-to-God sunlight – broke through the branches, played in golden shadows on the dew-drenched grass and greeted the hundreds of rainbow-shaded flowers that bloomed everywhere. Birds chirped in the treetops, and from somewhere, far away, the exultant cry of the Never-Bird echoed through the woods. He could hear the sea and the smell of a fresh salty breeze mingled with the sweet scent of the foliage._

_Peter laid his head back, spread his arms and fingers overhead, and relished in the warm air that played over his bare legs, arms and chest. He could have embraced the world in joy, to be free from all worries again; to have the summer back and to know that danger was banished. Neverland was free again, and -- _

_A wild shaking of the earth brought him to his knees. Shocked, he looked around at rocks tossing, trees falling, heard the birds leap upward and away with screeches of alarm, and beside him, one of the Green Masters emerged from his tree, his face sad, hopeless. "It's too late, boy. The Dark One has conquered."_

_Peter tried to stand up despite the shaking ground, shocked, enraged. "NO! We won! Don't you see it? The summer is back and—"_

"_No, young Pan, it is but an illusion. Don't you see why it is so warm? The Mount of No Return has awoken – HE woke it." With these words the Green Master vanished back into the heart of the tree. Peter made several steps into the direction of the Green Master –_

_-- And was suddenly no longer in the verdant clearing, but on a narrow rocky path. Beside him a rough wall of ancient black stone loomed into the cloudy sky, lit from underneath with a dangerous red-grey; on his other side, a steep abyss over unseen depths. He stepped closer to the edge and looked down – and yelped. Beneath him viscous glowing lava flowed through the deep valley. An ugly sulphur smell lingered in the air, like something foul had died, mingled with the smell of burning wood, while an eerie growling noise rolled over the land._

_The path beneath his feet was hard, rough – and too warm. No bird sang, no tree was seen, no flowers bloomed, no animals frolicked. But he knew this part of the island. He remembered it as a valley rich with forests and glades, with a beautiful waterfall and a singing stream – and now it was destroyed by the deadly flowing fire far below._

_Blinking as if to clear his vision, he looked around again. He recognized now that he was not only deep in the mountains, but at the Mount of No Return itself. How … how had he come to this place? Where were his friends – the Lost Boys, the brothers and Wendy? Where was Tink? And the Elves? Giliath and Thalion … they would never leave him! But he could see no trace of them._

_Deciding he had to find out what was going on here, he made as if to fly, but when he leaped into the thick air, he fell to the ground; his left knee and right hand were scratched open. Shocked, he stared at his own blood. Why couldn't he fly anymore? Except for this one awful certain day, he had never before lost all his happy thoughts! Swallowing hard, he moistened his lips with his tongue – and made a face at the smell and taste of the foul air! He called for Wendy._

_That is, he meant to call, but nothing came out of his mouth. Not the slightest sound. For a moment he panicked, then forced himself to calm down. It must have something to do with this stench; that was all. Angry and afraid, he began to climb, to get a better view of his surroundings. Finally, he reached a small plateau high above the Neverland valley. His feet were scored by sharp stones now, and every step became painful, but he walked to the other side of_ _the plateau and looked around._

_Horror gripped him. The rich woods and jungles had vanished – burned to black skeletons and ashes, still partly covered with ice. The many waterways were a sick yellow color and a lava-stream ate through the island. The foul smell was everywhere, and the sky was dressed in gloomy grey, colored from below by the red-yellow dancing shadows of the volcano._

_Peter looked for Pirate's Cove, barely recognizable anymore,_ _and then he tried to make out the_ Jolly Roger_. Finally he saw her – or rather, her remains. Through wisps of smoke, he could see arts of the broken keel still stuck in the ice, and here and there wooden planks loomed out of a frozen sea. No smoke of warming fires could be seen. No lights shimmered. There was no life anywhere. He couldn't tell if any of the pirates had survived – or any of the four friends he had sent with them._

_Anguish assaulted him, and he wanted desperately to cry great tears, but he couldn't. All he could think of was that his Wendy was dead – she, her little brother and two of his boys. And the pirates? Yes, once they had been enemies, but now, they were allies. And something whispered that not one of them was still alive._

_Urged by an instinct he didn't recognize, the eternal boy climbed further, toward the top of the volcano, his mind numb with shock. Something in him had died. Dry sobs escaped his throat, but still the tears didn't come, even as his heart screamed over and over that he had failed his friends; that he had lost what he loved the most; and that it was HIS FAULT that the Dark One had prevailed._

_How he managed to find hold in that stony wall, how his bloody feet found purchase, he didn't know. Eventually, he reached the crater. Hot smoke rose out of glowing abyss and the ground shook beneath his wounded feet. Exhausted, Peter straightened and walked uneasily around to the other side of the bubbling circle. He didn't feel his feet anymore; inside was emptiness. He knew what had happened to the other side of the island – but felt he had to see it with his own eyes._

_As he reached the other side of the crater, he took a deep breath of the stinking air, then he looked down. More gaunt skeletons of the burnt forests greeted him. At the edge of what had been the ancient forest, he saw a huge tree-stump looming into the dying skies. Beside it lay the broken trunk. The Never-Tree, Neverland's dwelling of life, was no more._

_Now, finally, the tears came. With a shout, Peter fell to his knees, sobbing for all he had lost._

_Destroyed! Neverland was destroyed! His whole world no longer existed! Even the people who had been so dear to him were gone, no living thing anywhere. The dark power that had taken his home had also taken the only thing in his life more precious to him than his freedom: the girl who had captured his little boyish heart – the same heart that had contracted then grown whenever she gave him a thi… a kiss. He had been loved – and he had never admitted to her that he didn't loathe this word, nor the feelings that came with it anymore!_

_The pain threatened to tear him apart, until he wished with all his might that he had shared the fate of his friends. His anguished screams had died down now, strangled in his sore throat. He couldn't breathe and -- _

_Suddenly, behind him he heard a cruel laughter – dry as dust, like two rocks sliding over each other. Collecting the broken pieces of his pride, Peter wiped his tears away, stood, and turned. He knew exactly who stood behind him, and he wanted to see the face of the one who had destroyed everything and everyone that gave his life meaning._

_S'Hadh stood only yards away from him – a tall dark shadow, clad in a long black vestment and a wide black cape. His hair was ice-grey like the north-wind, and tossed in the stinking air. But Peter couldn't make out his face – not really. It was more a pale emptiness with two burning coals where his eyes might be. The wizard lifted one bony hand and pointed a long thin finger at Peter while he laughed again – triumphant, almost joyfully, if such a creature could know joy. He gloated at the boy's pain and sorrow, possibly the only reason why he had allowed Peter to climb up here._

_Behind S'Hadh, a second shape emerged in the fumes, and came nearer. A black frock-coat embroidered with silver and gold hung from the shoulders, and a black curly mane blew in the wind; a short sword winked in the left hand, while a sharp hook glinted on the right – and was now lifted to a deadly blow._

_Frozen, Peter stared at the man who had come to take the dark wizard down. For a moment it looked as if the pirate would be successful, but S'Hadh had seen the movement of the boy's eyes, whirled around, brought his hands up and two thin bolts of destruction came out of his fingers._

_Peter screamed as they hit the pirate-captain on the chest and catapulted him backwards. He rolled over several times, until he finally came to lie on his back, unmoving. For a moment complete silence fell, then a soft moan escaped Hook's lips and woke the boy out of his shock. Sobbing he darted past the wizard on wounded feet to the pirate-captain and knelt down._

_Hook was still alive, but as the boy saw the deep burns that had torn the commander's chest, he knew that the buccaneer wouldn't survive those injuries. "Please," he whispered, "please, don't you leave me, too!"_

_The corner of the man's mouth twitched in his ashen face, then he opened his eyes and glanced at the boy. "Pan," he murmured, and, with some effort, lifted his right arm. Without hesitation, Peter took the metal prosthesis in his fingers and let his tears run freely. Hook had been his mortal enemy, but he was also the last one from his world who had remained with him. But no longer. The man's life was pouring from the deadly wounds the dark wizard had given him._

"_I … I'm sorry," Peter sobbed and, finally, admitted something that had burned in his soul since that fateful day so long ago, when he had marked the captain forever. "Taking your hand … I never intended this. It was an accident. Forgive me!"_

_Something like a smile came to the pirate's mouth and he wanted to say something, but no sound came over his lips. His eyes looked skyward, and a shudder shook his body. Peter bent over him and carefully lifted the head of the dying man onto his lap. "Please! Please stay! Please don't die! Do you hear me? You can't die. Not YOU! You're too strong! Don't leave me here alone!"_

_One last time Hook met his eyes, and the boy saw something there like understanding. Then they closed, and all tension left his body – forever._

_Peter looked down on the fallen pirate. NO! It couldn't be! Hook wasn't dead! Not this strong man, who had freed himself from the belly of a crocodile! Thalion had been right – hate could bind like love did. And he had been bound to this man – far closer than he had dared admit. "Captain?" he whimpered, and shook him gently, but he knew that no power left in that world could bring the buccaneer back._

_He was gone forever._

_Peter didn't feel anything but cold and pain. His will to live seemed to follow the pirate's soul, and the weight of his loss made him hold the man closer. As if in response, the ground shook again, and the noise of a land in agony grew. The volcano was awake and would devour the island, but Peter didn't fear it. Death would be a release. He heard a whisper from far away; words once spoken to defeat the man who lay dead in his lap – words now meant for him: Old, alone, done for!_

_Behind him, he heard dry laughter again, like sand blowing in the desert, laughter with no humor, no life. Laughter at his anguish and approaching demise._

"_NO-O-O-O-O!" Peter's scream echoed through the scarred mountains, rocking the body in his arms, head thrown to the mocking polluted sky. He felt a hard hand on his shoulder that shook him. He knew that hand was death, but he didn't care._

_The only thing he wanted to now was death … _

"Pan!" Hook shook the boy energetically, who lay beside him, pleading with someone not to die and weeping tears of despair. A final scream escaped him, filled with so much sorrow that Hook shuddered. "Wake up, boy! Blimey, it can't be that bad!" Around him, the boys were also roused and came to their leader.

At a touch on his arm, the buccaneer looked into the concerned face of Giliath. "It's S'Hadh. He invades the boy's mind, showing him images of horror to weaken him." e pressed his palms together, concentrated a moment, eyes closed, and then stroked shimmering fingers over Peter's damp forehead. He reached for the terrified thoughts of his young friend, to shield him against the wizard's influence – and felt a power standing against him. Collecting all his strength, he attacked it, and …

… And was shoved back like a rag doll. He fell, shaking, gasping for air, his eyesight gone. The boys yelped, startled, and Thalion, who had been watching, hastened toward his friend.

"Giliath!" Slightly asked. "What is it?"

"What happened?" Nibs added, kneeling beside Peter, who trembled and sobbed.

Tink dangled above Peter, tried to soothe him, but it was for naught. Hook glanced over to the shaken Elf; his hand on the boy's heaving chest. "It is that bloody wizard, isn't it?"

Giliath nodded, sitting up with Thalion's help. "He … he is stronger than before …" he said hoarsely. A shudder ran through his body – rare for an Elf. "His powers … are growing. He … he is in Peter's mind and … and tries …"

Another tormented sob escaped the boy's throat, while he cried again that someone shouldn't die, thrashing as he wept. Smee, who stood behind his commander, gulped. "I wouldn't wish t'at on my worst enemy!" he murmured, the men around him nodding in agreement.

"We must wake him up!" Thalion said and pulled Giliath to his feet, leaning against him. "Somehow, before …" He didn't have to spell it out.

The boys knelt beside their friend and leader, shook him, called to him, but still Peter was captured by his dreams. Another scream, so full of agony and despair that it pierced the pirate's less-than-black heart. Compassion awoke in Hook. Nightmares were one thing – but this was pure torture! The boy whimpered, heart-rending, sorrowful, miserable, all the horror of the world in that one sound, while his hands reached for help, something to hold onto.

"Enough!" Hook snarled. He couldn't and wouldn't watch this torment any longer. He himself had often imagined causing the boy to suffer before he killed him, but this … ! For reasons he didn't understand, those intentions were forgotten. Determinedly, he rose, lifted the crying, writhing child in his arms, carried him to the small waterfall and stood beneath it. The cool water splashed down on the child and the man, soaking them both, Hook's only desire -- to wake up the boy and to free him from the wizard's influence.

_Peter could feel S-Hadh's power washing over him. The world around him blurred into mist and nothingness, the corpse of Hook started to vanish from his lap. He tried to hold him, but the body in his arms simply changed into air. He yearned for the end to come; so strong was this wish that he couldn't even breathe anymore. The chill of death hit him, enclosed him, pulled him into darkness and …_

… And then he gasped, and found himself … where? Water was pouring over him, dragging him out of his nightmares. He didn't remember where he was, how he had come here. But now, the air wasn't foul with volcano fumes. He took several deep breaths and then, at last, he felt two strong arms around him, which now stood him upright – and under flowing water. Dizzily he looked up at his companion, straight into a familiar face, framed with raven-dark curls. Blue eyes watched him with a mixture of worry and a sneer, before the mouth, framed by a moustache, turned up into cynical smile, one Peter knew so well.

"Now, that's what I call 'sleeping like the dead,' m'boy!"

Peter could only stare at Hook, completely bewildered. A moment ago the pirate-captain had died in his arms, up there on the highest mountain of a devastated Neverland, killed by the foul arts of the dark sorcerer, and now - he stood here before him and…

"Hook?" he asked hoarsely, hardly daring to believe his eyes, water pouring down his back.

The buccaneer frowned, seeing something on Peter's face he had never seen before, not when he looked at _him_. Something like … hope … and joy? "Aye. That I am."

"You … you're alive?" the boy whispered and both brows of the pirate shot up.

"O' course I'm alive, boy."

Peter swallowed; then the last traces of sorrow and misery became exultation. "You're alive!" he shouted, and without thinking, he wrapped both arms around the tall man, embracing him with a strength Hook wouldn't have suspected from the boy. New sobs escaped Peter, but they weren't born out of pain, but of joy. "You're alive! You're alive!" he said over and over again, hopping up and down in the pool, still holding the captain in that iron grip.

Astonished and disconcerted, Hook stared at the overjoyed child, who seemed to be breaking his ribs, bouncing around and shouting, "You're alive!" a dozen times. His glance swept Smee, who stared stupidly at them; then the amazed boys and fairy, who were no less surprised than he was; then his men, who just stared at them, still frowsy with sleep; then to a perplexed group of Elf warriors; and finally to a smiling Giliath, now supported by a thoughtful Thalion.

Peter seemed to have no plans for ending his celebration. No, quite the opposite. It had been only a nightmare! Neverland wasn't destroyed! His friends were still with him! Wendy, Michael and the Twins were safe aboard the _Jolly Roger_! Hook was still alive! – a fact he never thought would awaken such a feeling of merriment in him. Peter didn't know why, but the sight of the dying pirate-captain had shocked him as much as the sight of the devastated island.

Hesitating, Hook put his left hand warily on the back of the boy – the maximum embrace he would allow himself with his nemesis. "Peter?" he asked uneasily. "Perhaps you'll tell us all what has gotten into you?" The positive emotions of the boy was displaying toward him were almost frightening.

Peter glanced up to him, his eyes still teary and his lids reddened, but he beamed. "You're alive!"

"Yes, so we've determined," Hook retorted with a rough voice. "And I appreciate this fact, as well. But pray tell why _you_ are so pleased about it?" Uncertainly, the pirate was watching the boy's face, again finding himself in a completely strange situation. People had never reacted _that_ way toward him. It was a fact he had accepted – nay, cultivated – that no one liked him – _'except perhaps our pretty storyteller,'_ he admitted to himself, _'and Smee.'_ But he and the girl had faced mortal danger side by side, and – what was the old saying? 'Ten minutes of danger unites more than ten years friendship.' And Smee was a loyal soul – had always been and would ever be.

But that Pan, of all people, was nearly leaping out of his skin because he, Hook, lived – demonstrated now by the boy dancing about him in the pool, hooting like an Indian, under the waterfall and back out around the man again – had him 'turned upside down.' Normally they were trying to kill each other, but he had found himself unable to watch the boy's suffering anymore, and the child almost strangled him with his joyful embrace.

Suddenly Peter grew still, face grew serious, an urgency in his eyes. "When we face S'Hadh, don't approach him from behind!"

The pirate-captain frowned. "That would be bad form!" he declared, mostly out of habit.

The boy shook his head and took the man's arms again. "You don't understand. It has nothing to do with good or bad form, James, but with what S'Hadh will do. He will kill you, if you attack him from behind. I know it, James. I saw it!"

Hook was momentarily irritated that the boy dared call him by his given name, something no one ever did, then the child's words came to his mind. "Peter, I…" he started, but was interrupted by the boy.

"Promise!"

Hook made a face. "Belay that, boy, it was only a dream. A bad dream, yes, but no more than a dream."

"NO! It wasn't only a dream. Promise, James! Swear you won't come at him from behind!"

There was such intensity in the boy's gaze that Hook was touched, against his will. He gave in and nodded. "Promised," he grumbled and saw the relief on the boy's wet face before he closed his eyes and laid his forehead against Hook's chest, arms again wrapping around the man.

"Good! I don't want you to die!"

Hook lifted one brow, his hand again stroking the boy's back without his realization. Hating his uncertainty, he found his refuge in mockery, the more familiar role. "If this is so, then I would ask that you would stop trying to break my ribs."

Peter looked up to him – and finally realized what he was doing. Cheeks reddening, he released the pirate as of he were on fire, and stepped back – directly under the waterfall again, then to the side, shaking his curls. "Cheeky old codfish!" he grumbled.

Realizing they both were soaked to the skin, Hook laid his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Come. Let's get out of these wet clothes, and perhaps we can all get some sleep." Peter accompanied the pirate as if it were the most normal thing to do.

Minutes later, they had shed their wet clothes while helping hands passed them others (Smee fussing over Hook, somewhat reminiscent of a doting mother). Others lay the wet ones on the rocks to dry.

As they sat, facing the fire, an Elf handed them both some tea from dinner, still warm. Peter gulped it, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, for something to do with his energetic fingers, he took out his knife and began to carve on a piece of common soapstone from the collection on the floor of the cave.

Hook watched the boy as he sipped his tea a bit more slowly (wishing for a flask of hard rum). The boy's eyes were haunted, darkened. Then Hook, still shaken from the emotional outburst of his young opponent, asked, "What was the dream? They probably heard your shouting across the breadth of Neverland."

The boy blushed again, looking away from the light. He saw the understanding gaze of Giliath, who was sitting near a watchful Thalion. It was in the faces of his friends that he finally found the courage to answer.

"Neverland was ash. The woods, the meadows and marshes all burned. Ice covered part of it. The rivers were gall, and I couldn't see the sky." He glanced at Hook. "Your ship, Captain, was torn apart and…" his gaze grew distant as he called up the foul memories again – and Hook took Peter's shoulders and shook him softly, forbidding the boy to fall back into his nightmare.

"Peter, stay here with us!" The youth's eyes cleared, and he nodded. "Go on."

The eternal boy swallowed hard. "Ev – everyone was dead. Your men too, Captain. The Indians, the animals and fairies … they … all … my friends … Wendy!" New tears welled up in his eyes and he hastily blinked them away while he fought the growing lump in his throat, the pictures just too fresh in his mind. "I climbed to the crater of the Mount of No Return. I thought you were dead, too, Captain." His voice was forced now. "Then S'Hadh was there …" He sniffled and rubbed his eyes to force the tears back.

"You _saw_ him, Peter?" Giliath asked, his voice demanding, and the boy shrugged.

"Not clearly. His face was only a pale thing in black with glowing eyes." He took another deep breath, his voice cracking again. "Sud … suddenly you were there as well, Captain. You attacked S'Hadh from behind, but … he knew, and turned around and … and there came something like lightning out of his hands. They hit you. At first you were still alive, but then…" Again he wiped a new tear away, shaken and angry.

" '_Perdition edges his way, and death gives the touch of his hands'_," Giliath murmured, quoting a part of the prophecy.

Hook nodded slowly, understanding. "I died."

Peter nodded, while a single tear escaping. "I couldn't help you. I couldn't … keep you. You slipped away … and I was alone." He lowered his face. "Completely alone." His voice was a whisper.

Finally Hook realized what had shocked the boy so thoroughly. You were begging _me_ not to die!" he whispered, as if hit by a hammer. "You were pleading with _me_ to stay!"

Wide-eyed, Peter looked back at him. "How do you know?" he asked; affirming Hook's anticipation with this question.

"You talk in your sleep," Hook murmured, too shaken to say more. The boy had been so desperate, so miserable because he, James Hook, had died in his nightmare! For a moment he felt lightheaded. This could not be! This boy didn't care for him! Never! Never, never, never! He glanced at the stricken face of the child biting his lips, and knew that he was wrong. Peter _cared_ for him, despite their hostility, their history. This boy, who loathed all grownups, him the most, _did_ care for him enough to despair because of a nightmare about his death.

Peter chewed his lower lip, remembering his despair. "Please, you must be careful when we met finally S'Hadh. I –" he swallowed, "…I really don't want you to die."

Hook could barely hear the boy's words, but they made the pirate tremble momentarily (he was glad for the dim light.) He didn't know how to react, what to say. There was an instinct to simply pull Peter into a tight, reassuring embrace. There was an instinct to run before he was confronted with more emotions he couldn't accept, both his and his young adversary's. There was the impulse to yell at the boy, to shake some sense into him. There was even an old faded habit, like an old wound long healed that hitched when the weather was turning, that told him to simply gut the boy. Bloody hell, they were enemies! Enemies – not friends! And – fie on it – neither would cry a single tear if the other died!

At the same moment, he knew that was a lie. Whatever they had known before – that omnipresent hatred – had disappeared, like a morning mist as the sun rose and burned through the trees, like a sharp stone in your back when you slept outside, that you've grown accustomed to, and then you roll over. Something he'd lived with so long he'd taken it for granted. Somehow the pair had left behind wrath and bitterness and were approaching a careful acceptance.

And he had no idea what to do now.

For the first time in his unnaturally long life, James Hook was lost for an idea.

Rubbing his stinging eyes, Hook took a shuddering breath, watching the movement of the boy's knife, working with a nervous speed. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should remind you of this wish, the next time you try to stab me." His voice was not firm as he wanted, and even he could hear how false the words sounded. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder, sitting to his left, and gave it a shove.

Peter, still uneasy because of the dream – and the new feelings for the man sitting near him – tried a smirk, though it came out as nothing more than an uncertain smile. "And you could remember my warning the next time you want to gut me."

Both laughed uncomfortably for a moment, before Hook allowed himself to assay the boy's condition. Still sniffling, some tears still on his face, the boy didn't look like the cocky infuriating brat he usual was, but like a forlorn child who didn't understand what was happening. Realizing that he needed to distance himself from this whole unnerving situation, he stood suddenly, taking the knife and half-formed carving from the boy's busy fingers. "Enough. Time for sleep, boy." His voice sounded almost gentle.

Peter shook his head, receiving his discarded cape from Tootles. "I can't sleep. I … I don't dare."

This admission took Hook by surprise – and woke pity in him. "I don't think that this rabble-rouser will try anything else tonight, Peter. He knows now you're well protected." He met the surprised and hopeful expression of the boy, and felt a smile tugging at his mouth, before he scowled insincerely. "Aye, you caught me, Pan. Of course I'll defend you against him any way I can. After all, we're allies."

The rest of the group knew it was an historic moment they were witnessing, Hook's hand resting on the boy's shoulder, while Peter tried to smile at him. Hook's mind again dug around for something mocking to contribute, and came up with – nothing! Finally he realized that he was, again, the centre of attention – gall and brimstone! – because he had, again, assisted one of those damn children! Not even the girl this time, which was only good form. No, this time it was the damn little pest himself. And the brat poured out his heart, giving away that the death of his nemesis would cause him distress. Hook didn't dare to think of the reasons why. And he even didn't dare to think about why it affected him so drastically. The boy's overt concern and jubilant celebration had wriggled a way into his growing heart. The bitterness was silenced, making room for warmer feelings; feelings forbidden to the rigid commander of murderous buccaneers, but which he finally admitted to himself. He had begun to _care_ for the boy.

That terrified him more than the crocodile.

Alas, how could he hunt down the boy ever again, if he didn't hate him?

"Captain?"

Hook looked up and realized that he had gotten lost in thought again. "Aye?"

"If that's true, I think I'd like to go back to sleep now."

Suddenly seeing the smirk on the boy's face, Hook snatched away his hand, as if he'd found it stuck in something very disagreeable, clearly embarrassed. "What're you lookin' at?" he scowled at his abashed crew. They busied themselves crawling back into their bedrolls. "Don't let me stop you, Pan. Heaven forbid I get scolded for keeping you from your beauty sleep."

"Who is it you don't want to hear it from?" Peter teased, slowly coming back to himself. "Smee, Giliath or my Wendy?"

"Smee is by boson, not my conscience. Giliath is a wise counselor, not my commander. And Wendy is a good storyteller –"

" – and very special, as you already said!" the boy interrupted, a bit of the old fun in his eyes.

"Yes," Hook nodded – and groaned inside. Ah, he hadn't admitted again, had he? Several snorts were heard around the cave. "Get to bed, Pan. Don't think that I'll _carry_ you into battle!" he snapped.

The boys were giggling now. Peter smirked and shoved his damp hair out of his forehead. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it – codfish!"

"Quite right, brat!"

Tinker Bell rolled her eyes. Giliath, now recovered, laughed, sounding both amused and relieved. "I fain would say that such as we've seen this night was the best example of love-hate ever."

"WHAT?" man and boy responded, and looked at each other as they would an extraordinarily large, ugly spider.

Thalion nodded. "Indeed, my friend. T'would seem they cannot live with each other, but each also cannot live without the other."

"Are you trying to offend me on purpose, Elf?" Hook growled. "I can live quite well without this nervy putrid little child of Satan!"

"Me, too!" Peter affirmed, which instantly brought all the Elves to laughter.

The two stared at each other, seeing the Elf's tactics at work again before they turned as one toward Giliath and Thalion. "You did it again!" Hook hissed.

"That means: walk the plank!" Peter added, both folding their arms.

Giliath laughed out loud this time, despite his and weakness from the attack – the enforced quiet broken long before. "Well, I have no problem jumping from a ship, but you two should get your stories straight," he grinned.

Peter stuck out his tongue, while Hook snorted. Thalion and Giliath exchanged a glance. "The Dark One has favored us with his oppression – even if he is not aware," the commander said in their own tongue.

Giliath nodded. "In truth. His attempt to weaken the boy by showing him the worst possible future has only strengthened his resolve, and bound them both ever closer to each other." They met Tink's knowing gaze, who nodded slowly – a smile on her tiny face.

TBC…

Dear Readers,

at first a big 'thank-you' for the nice and loooooong reviews. I love to get them and I am happy that you all like my story so much. This chapter was something I had to do - not only for the plot and story-line, but also for all who like to see the two opponents acting a little bit more nicer to each other. In the next chapter our dear storyteller has all hands full to do on the _Jolly Roger_ and is given a little insight of the life on a ship - and that pirates CAN be lads, if you know how to take them. And Wendy will learn more about her fairy-tale-captain, because who knows more about the ship's commander, as the ship's sprite...?


	26. Aboard The Jolly Roger

**Chapter 25 – Aboard The _Jolly Roger_**

After the little party clambered aboard, their troop vanished inside to get warm, including the pixie and the fairy. Wendy gazed about the captain's cabin while she slipped out of the boots, cape, furl-doublet and finally the doublet Giliath had given her. The belt with the dagger she laid on the large table, and Michael and the Twins thirstily drank the fresh water Billy Jukes brought them.

Cecco accompanied the children to Hook's cabin, repeating his warning (for the third time) to "be careful wit' t' cap'n's belongin's" and "t' bring' not'ing to disorder." Then he rumbled "G'night. Duty starts tomorrow a' six bells." Wendy, loving everything that had to do with ships and the sea, knew that meant 7 o'clock, as time was measured on the ship, starting at midnight for four hour shifts, bells rung at the half hour. And so she surprised the giant pirate when she told him that breakfast would be ready at eight bells, one hour later at 8 o'clock.

Cecco was surprised – a landlubber, a female knew that? Was it possible his captain hadn't lost his mind? That this little lassie really was worth the man's time?

After the buccaneer exited, Nihal and Billy Jukes came. The pirate brought them fresh water and bread, cheese, and fruits. He had grumbled something about "Yer duty starts t'morra! Ye need yer rest!" and had left. The Elf laid Bumblyn, soundly asleep, on a padded armchair, asked the children if they needed anything, then left with a small bow to Wendy and a nod toward the exhausted boys. He told them they would be safer here than anywhere else, and that he and Emorlhi would keep watch.

Finally alone, the candle-lit peace of the quiet cabin sank in, and wearily, Wendy put the snow-caked clothes near the decorated stove, a new fire busily crackling within. With wide eyes, she took in the familiar surroundings. This time, she had the leisure to examine the warm and wondrous details.

Hook's cabin hadn't changed a smidge – everything was just as she remembered. Beyond the short entrance, the captain's cabin took up the aft of that deck. Mulled windows, both clear and blue, filled the aft-wall; the dark beams overhead and where the bulkheads met the deck above revealed beautiful carvings, partly plated with gold. Overhead was a large wooden grating, now sealed from above. But when the weather grew warm, fresh air could circulate in the cabin without opening windows – a dangerous situation on a pirate-ship.

The castle (the large raised portion aft) was one of the weak areas of a ship during an attack, and pirates often used this to gain victory over a ship. While attacking the bow and sides, some of them would climb aboard at the aft and attack the other crew in from behind. Hook had gained many victories in this way, and knowing of the dangers of Neverland (mainly the Indians, and boys), he had made sure that his own quarters were not at risk, and, at the same, he could enjoy time fresh air – something necessary for body and soul.

Wendy didn't know this about Hook, but recognized that the grating would provide fresh air and a modicum of safety. Turning her attention from the ceiling, she saw floor was covered with thick Oriental carpets. There was the beautifully crafted harpsichord, which Hook was playing when she spoke with him for the very first time. A wooden globe, a large table with four ladder-back chairs (one on which Bumblyn snored), a desk with a padded leather chair, a deep luxuriously upholstered divan, a bed (its headboard shaped like an open shell and painted gold), the small glass cabinet with Hook's different chemicals and medicines, a wardrobe and several other pieces furnished the cabin in a suitably regal manner.

Portside, she saw shelves with many books – the library he'd invited her to enjoy. She hadn't noticed it during her former visit, nor the stove to starboard. From here, warmth was already beginning to radiate, and the girl sighed with relief. After the long winter walk, it was heaven to come in out of the cold, and find something so comfortable and well-appointed.

"Wendy?" Michael asked, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "Where does that go?" He pointed at a door behind her, beside the door they had just come through.

The girl shook her head. "I don't know, Michael."

"But we thought, you—"

"—were here before?" the Twins added.

The girl gave them a firm look. "Yes. As a 'guest' or captive, my attention was elsewhere. I did not have a chance to go exploring! When you're facing the Scourge of the Seven Seas, known only by reputation, you pay attention not to the furniture, but to _him_."

"Sure – especially to his 'eyes blue as forget-me-nots'," Michael teased, then yawned hugely.

Wendy felt heat rising to her cheeks, and she stuck her tongue out at her little brother. "All right, to bed!" the girl ordered, suddenly all mother again. "You two take the ottoman. It's large enough for two small boys!" The Twins nodded, yawning and tottering on thawing feet to their bed, catching the blanket and pillow Wendy tossed to them.

Michael watched her with wary eyes as she turned down the Captain's four-poster bed. "You want to sleep here?" he asked.

"Of course. Why not? It is, after all, a bed."

"But it's … it's _his_ bed!" he grimaced.

"Don't be silly, Michael. It's the first real bed we've had in days – and Captain Hook invited us to use the cabin freely. So I see no reason why I – and you – shouldn't sleep in his bed."

Behind her the Twins giggled, "If Mother could see us now!" Wendy laughed as well. Yes, it seemed as if they would go to bed without washing – again – and as soon as this adventure was over she would make sure that all the boys took a hot bath – Peter as well!

Bath …

Didn't Hook mention a tub, and that she could use it as well?

Her head turned to the small door past the desk, and she realized she had not yet seen anything like a wash basin or tub. And considering the Captain's usually fastidious appearance … Hmm … James Hook would never perform his morning toilette with the crew! And then she remembered … hadn't he said something about a water-closet? "Wait before you slip into bed!" she told the boys, lifting the latch, and carefully opening the mysterious door.

It was dark, of course. "Michael? Bring a candle, please!" Her brother obeyed and the twins forgot about bed for a chance to explore the ship they'd harassed so often. The girl lifted the candle and peered from the threshold. A gasp escaped her.

Well, one thing could be said about James Hook: the man showed a lot of good taste, even for a man at sea. The room was small, fitting nicely between the bridge and the cabin. It held everything needed, as was appropriate for a man's "ready room" as the captain called it (dictated by tradition.) There was a tub (white porcelain, decorated with gold), a wash-stand with bone china pitcher and wash bowl kept in its place on the rolling sea by an elegant railing, a gold-plated towel rack, and a personal latrine built into the outer hull beneath a small porthole. Another protected shelf held other utensils, such as a straight razor, sharpening strop, shaving-brush, a flask with scented toilette water (no doubt about it), soap, and other grooming tools.

Michael's large eyes grew larger. "Beggar me" he exclaimed – an expression he'd picked up from a workman in the street.

"It looks like –"

"—Sir Edward's other room!" the Twins contributed.

(Sir Edward Quiller Couch was George Darling's immediate superior at the bank. All the boys had accompanied their father to his new office on one of the bank holidays, and as Father regaled the other boys over the glories of a perfectly balanced account, the Twins had gone "exploring." Curly missed them soon after, and both were discovered before too much damage was done … but that's another story.)

Wendy shot the boys a sharp look, but Michael whistled. "He must be the King of pirates!"

Wendy giggled. "Good heavens, don't say that around the Captain, or none of his hats will fit anymore!" They all laughed together, and the boys turned to go back to the main cabin.

It was then they heard Wendy pointedly clearing her throat. "Lads, first you wash up!" Objections were immediate, loud, and numerous, but Wendy wouldn't budge. "Just look at you -- you're filthier than the pirate crew of this ship! And I don't want to have to wash his sheets to conceal from Hook that you crawled onto his furniture as dirty as farm boys after harvest!"

Grumbling loudly, the boys did as they were told, remembering Hook's warning. The only one who seemed deaf to her orders was Bumblyn, who slept like a bear in winter. Rolled in a little ball, his tail wrapped around securely around his waist, he slept like a dead man, snoring indescribably. Wendy found a blanket in a chest and spread it over him, tucking it around her 'shadow.' He yawned, mumbled something and rubbed his face on the soft material. She picked his hat off the floor and laid it on the table. "Sleep well, little friend!" she whispered; then she returned to supervise the boys' baths.

Later, Wendy snuffed the candles and slipped between the blankets, sighing with pleasure at the satin surrounding her, warmed by wool and feathers. She wore only the shirt Hook had given her. She closed her eyes, hearing Michael already sleeping soundly beside her – and shifted again to find a comfortable position. She heard the strange noises of the ship: the creaking of the wooden planks, the wind in the rigging, the crunch of the ice, and the footsteps of the guards overhead. Wind soughed past the mulled windows, but for the first time since Neverland had been beset by winter, it sounded almost normal, not dangerous. Yawning widely, Wendy buried her face in the pillow beneath her face.

She could smell the man in the satin, familiar by now, and somehow, even if she were too young and too tired to wonder why, it comforted her.

She might have thought about how he no longer represented danger to her. She might have remembered his more compassionate side. She knew he'd been forced into alliance, but she no longer looked upon him with trepidation, fearing what he might demand from her in payment for her offences – real and imagined – against him. She might have remembered that Peter seemed to trust him with the fate of Neverland. If she'd had even a few more minutes, she would have said a heartfelt prayer for the boys, elves, pirates. Then her mind would have lingered over a face surrounded by blonde curls with pixie dust in his grin, or maybe a tall blue-eyed Lothario. She might have thought of all these things, but three or four heartbeats after her last sigh, she fell sound asleep, and dreamed she walked in the Neverland summer, looking for something she hadn't quite found yet … just … just out of reach.

---------------------------------

Wendy took a step back and beheld the heap of onions and potatoes she had already peeled and the other heap that still had to be done. At the other side of the worktable sat Billy Jukes, carving the meat and whistling a song she didn't know. Between them crouched Bumblyn, slicing tomatoes. It was late afternoon, and she was already tired.

That morning, Bumblyn woke her up when, cackling with merriment, he started hopping over her from side to side, very pleased with his new game, rhyming her name with absurd creatures. After she washed – and forced the boys to do the same – she slipped into her (now dry) clothes, ordered the boys to the galley with her, and together they made a breakfast for all. Their trip to the galley was the most dangerous part of their shipboard experience so far – not because of the pirates, who ignored them – but because of the ice on the steep stair to the deck, then the deck itself, and finally the companionway. A grumpy Albino and Jukes (with his eyelids at half-mast) showed them where everything was and left again.

Wendy never imagined that Cookson would keep a clean kitchen, but the galley was spotless. The large kettles, tools, knives, and dishes gleamed and the wooden block table was scrubbed. Countless scores on its worn surface told of years of use.

After she and the boys had labored for nearly an hour (Bumblyn displaying a basic competence, even if he nearly broke a few things), Jukes returned and gave them a helping hand, before the crew filed in for their food. Wendy and the boys remained in the galley. Even with the Elves, they didn't feel safe joining the pirates in their common-room.

Then Wendy did the washing up – egad, even twenty buccaneers couldn't make such an awful mess, could they? – prepared a bit of lunch for herself (with Jukes' help), and used the little time left to read one of Hook's books.

He really had an impressive library and books on all sorts of topics: science, engineering, the design and construction of ships, biology and geography. There were also the classics of Shakespeare, Dumas, Defoe, Milton and many other authors unknown to her. He had poetry and songbooks, and the girl felt like she stood looking at a piece of heaven. She even tried a book in French (she wasn't proficient in French, but she caught the gist of it) and had finally decided to read a book by Dumas, in English, even if it was written in an old style.

She read aloud to the boys, until Bumblyn knocked on the door before falling into the room, jumping up to remind her that it was time to prepare dinner. So the afternoon passed quite pleasantly, despite the weather and her gnawing fear for Peter and the others, for even such a good book as "The Three Musketeers" couldn't distract her from the danger they all faced.

At one point, as the boys dozed, the girl was tempted to attempt a drawing. And if she hadn't been that diverted by Hook's navigation charts that lay on his desk, she would have started one.

But now, Wendy was peeling vegetables. She rolled her shoulders and rubbed her neck, which had begun to ache in earnest, complaining about the unfamiliar activity Bumblyn looked up. "Might I rub your back for you, lady? Perhaps and perchance this unlucky person might coax the krickity-sticks from your neck?"

Wendy looked up at him, surprised by his offer, almost responding with an enthusiastic "yes!" before she saw the little one's hands covered with tomato guts. "Uh … no, thank you, Bumblyn!"

Billy Jukes snorted, trying to hide his laugh, and the girl glanced at him. Hook had been right. The tattooed gunman really had a sunny disposition. Rough as he was, he had begun to tell jokes, and even shared adventures he'd experienced, both in Neverland and back home. She was trying to read his expressions through the tattoos, and she quickly learned that he was joking when his blue-grey eyes twinkled and the spider-webs tattooed on his cheeks, nose and chin twisted. "Could give 'er a rum," he grinned at Bumblyn, who sat between them at the table and handled his small knife rather carelessly as he hacked the tomatoes in little pieces.

He used his own unique method. He laid the tomato in front of him, raised his knife over his head like the king's executioner, bringing it down forcefully. There was much splashing of juice, and one or two just rolled away. Bumblyn looked at Wendy. "Great flabberin honk! No rum for the fair young maid, mate!" he said firmly and the next tomato split perfectly.

" 'Oo taught ya 'ow t' do it t'at way?"

Skylight stood at the door, dressed in every stitch he owned, staring at the mess. Short Tom – the one-eyed, peg-legged, nearly bald parrot – clung to his shoulder. Wendy recognized the miserable creature as the one who followed her to Peter's old hideout on her last visit to Neverland.

The Hobgoblin frowned. "Who are you to ask, ya great lout? Who might it be who lives in a kitchen? You big'un or me?"

The older pirate laughed. "I sure would like t' see Cookie's face now!"

"Bilge-rats and sea-demons!" Short Tom croaked. "Cookie blow a storm!"

Wendy giggled, forgiving the bird for what he did to her, hearing the man's despised nickname. She looked around. "Where are the boys?"

Skylight jerked his thumb upward. "Wit' t'e Elves!" He shook his head. "Don't t'ose magicians NEVER sleep?" He took a seat and snatched up a tomato, jamming it entirely into his mouth and devouring. Juice escaped over his beard and Wendy lifted a brow.

"Napkin?" she asked.

Skylight stared at her. "Wha'?"

Jukes pointed with his knife toward the sideboard. "Use a towel an' wipe yer mouth. We're dealing wit' a young lady."

The older pirate blinked at his comrade and then the girl. "Ain't never used one afore!"

"Ragbag!" the parrot squawked and Skylight rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, ye blasted bird! God knows why t'e cap'n don't take off yer ugly head!"

Wendy lifted her other brow, and, with very little imagination, could identify everything he'd eaten that day. "Mr. Skylight? Did it take much time to grow that beard?"

The buccaneer nodded and proudly stroked it. "Aye!" he grinned.

"Well, I've heard that if a beard isn't cared for, it becomes so knotted that you won't be able to talk anymore, and you'd have to cut it off. I do so love to see a man well-groomed." She gave him a sweet smile. "Are you looking forward to the day you can shave it off?"

The older man jumped up – Short Tom bounded upward with a protesting croak – grabbed a towel, dunking it into a bowl of water and rubbed his lower face until all remains of breakfast, lunch and the tomato were gone. Then he rubbed it dry and combed it carefully with his fingers. "Well?" he asked, showing the girl his chin.

Wendy hid a giggle – how easy it was to bring the pirate to the direction she liked! – and nodded. "Much nicer, Mr. Skylight. Quite handsome."

With a broad grin the older pirate called for the parrot and left the galley. Billy Jukes whistled softly. "Shiver me timbers, lass, well done! Ye handled that tar like the Cap'n at the wheel!"

The girl looked at him in wide-eyed innocence. "What ever you mean, Mr. Jukes?"

The younger gunman shook his head. "Na, miss, y' take m' meanin'. And call me Billy!"

Wendy pinked sweetly, feeling a bit awkward. Yes, Billy Jukes was younger than his comrades and Hook, but he was, after all, a grownup. She nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Ju … Billy."

The pirate shook his paring knife at her. "Only t'ree more times, lassie! T'en you'll buy me a rum." He grinned and the spider-web on his cheek bobbed upward.

She saluted with hers, "Aye aye, Sir!" They worked in silence for a few moments while she considered her next words, asking something she'd been curious about from the first. "Mmm … Billy?"

"Aye, lass?"

"May I ask you a question? A personal one?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

Wendy kept working, her eyes down. "Why all the tattoos?"

The sailor looked down at her and laid aside his carving knife. "Well, t'at ain't explained none too quick. Y' see the anchor?" He rolled up the sleeve on his left arm.

The girl had to look closely to see the anchor in the middle of the waves, mermaids and Neptune, the God of the Seas. "Oh, there!" she nodded.

"Well, t'at was me first! I got it t'e evenin' afore I hired at t'e Sea Pride – a good ship, but a bad cap'n. Nut'in' like Hook!" He sighed. "T'e next one, t'is lass 'ere" – he pointed at the mermaid above the anchor – "I got when I hired on t'e next ship!" His gaze grew distant with the memory. "I was only a lad – barely older t'an Pan." He shook his head and went back to the meat and moved on to a story about every tattoo on his arms and face. Then he told the girl how he came to acquire the other ones: lost bets, proof of courage, comradeship (it was a tradition to share the same tattoo with another mate), for fun, or to commemorate every sea-journey he'd made before this one.

Wendy shook her head, but was – somehow – excited as well. If she had counted correctly, then Billy Jukes couldn't be older than twenty-four, and it sounded as if he'd seen half the world.

Bumblyn, who had stopped executing tomatoes to listen to the stories, stared at the pirate. Humans had the strangest customs – no doubt about it!

As Jukes finished his stories, the door cracked open, and all looked up, but no one was there. "T'e wind," Jukes shrugged, shoving the door closed, and continued his butchering.

Wendy listened to the outside noises and glanced to the porthole. It was almost as dark as it had been during the night. Daylight barely showed at all yesterday, and vanished completely this day. The girl shivered. "It's sinister," she murmured and Jukes glanced up.

"What?"

Wendy nodded toward the porthole. "Every day the light has come later and vanished earlier. And now it hasn't come at all."

Billy Jukes looked outside, too, and took a deep breath. "Aye! T'is the work of t'at wizard. I hope t'e cap'n an' Pan kick his sorry ass! We'll have a chance to 'elp."

The girl lowered her head. "'Neverland will freeze in ice and snow before the fire of dying hope turn it to ash. The sun will hide behind clouds, and darkness will blur the frontier of night and day.' " She sighed. "The prophecy has come to pass. There is no difference between day and night, and the whole island is nearly smothered in snow."

Jukes rose and walked to one of the cupboards, clanged there with something and returned with three glasses – one full and two with only a finger of dark liquid. " 'Ere, lass," he said and offered her one of the glasses. The other one he sat in front of the suspicious Bumblyn.

"What's that?" Wendy asked warily, having a very good idea what it was.

Rum.

"Just a sip fer ya," Jukes said, nodding encouragingly. "It willna hurt ya, an' it might calm yer willies."

Wendy eyed the glass, hearing herself in her memories scolding Smee with the words, "I'm a little girl!" when he had offered her Muscatel or rum. Well, that hadn't changed much. She was still a child, but their situation was quite different, to say the least … practically enslaved on her favorite fantasy's pirate ship with Lost Boys, Elves, cut off by a deadly winter, beset by enemies of every description and an evil wizard bent on their destruction …

Oh well… would it be so bad to have rum for her first taste of alcohol? She glanced at Billy, then at a curious Hobgoblin, whose ears waggled back and forth, and lifted the glass to a toast. "May the _Jolly Roger_ always have a cubit beneath her keel!"

The young gunman grinned broadly, touching his glass to hers: "T' all t'e nice lassies and t'e li'l beauty t'at tamed'r cap'n!"

Wendy's jaw dropped, and she blushed several shades of red, but before she could correct his remark – she had not tamed James Hook – sweet Lord, he of all people! – Jukes emptied his glass. Two things went through her mind with the speed and clarity of a lightning bolt:

_First was Aunt Millicent, horror on her features, left hand clapped to her heaving bosom, and right hand fanning herself frantically with her lace hankie. But that one was replaced by the second._

_Earlier that year, before the summer came full tilt, Father had taken them all on holiday to the beach at Brighton. Mother had made a wonderful luncheon, which the boys devoured in a trice, and then headed toward the water. Wendy hung back, keeping an eye on her parents. She watched her father and mother easily exchanging that hidden kiss, and the look in her mother's eyes as she laughed and chatted with her father, who looked remarkably handsome, out of his stiff suit and relaxed on the beach._

_It was then mother looked toward the sea, and called to John, who was standing in the shallow surf, only ankle deep in the cold water, creeping forward. Michael and the Lost Boys (very familiar with this activity) had charged in, diving into the first wave that came along, and were already whooping and playing like dolphins offshore. "Just leap in, John! It's better if you take the unpleasant part all at once!" Wendy then stood, laughing, and grabbed John to join the others in play._

She saw Billy put down his glass, and knew she had to act. In the next second, she decided to take the leap, tossing back the liquid as he had done –

- and started to cough violently. It burned like fire all the way to her stomach, and she felt like she couldn't breathe. The young pirate had to laugh, and stood to slap her on her back. "Easy, lass! T'e first is t'e worstest!"

Bumblyn, who had emptied his glass without any problem, jumped up and ran to her, falling over the carefully stacked potatoes and onions. "No-o-o-o!" he screeched. Instantly they developed a life of their own, rolling merrily off the table and thundering onto the floor. The door was flung open and Albino, Bollard and Quang Lee launched into the galley, alarmed by the strange noises. They didn't get far, potatoes and onions like marbles under their feet. Cursing, the three pirates tumbled over each other.

"Put yer boot away!"

"What's t'at? Yer fist?"

and

"Shut up, ye bilge-rat!"

Still coughing, backed up to the pantry wall, Wendy watched three fallen men, then the laughing Billy Jukes and a frustrated Hobgoblin, who rubbed his little bottom, picking tomato-flesh out of the hair on his tail; grumbling one of his endlessly long curses in his language.

Emorlhi appeared in the doorway, eyed the chaos in the little room and began to laugh – a beautiful sound, shining and warm as the sun. "Well, what is it humans say? Too many cooks, et cetera …" he joked, his dark eyes sparkling with fun as he leaned on the doorjamb. A moment later, the fallen pirates started to chuckle with the Elf and Jukes, because laughing is always better than scolding.

A disembodied voice softly laughed along with them, heard only by the Hobgoblin. Bumblyn's piping laughter stopped as his sharp eyes looked around for the source of that other voice. Then a grin crossed his face, while he waved at someone invisible to the others. Well, this stay aboard promised to get more interesting ...

--------------------------------------------

After dinner Wendy was again faced with a heap of dishes – and felt like crying. Her shoulders, neck and arms all sincerely ached now, the air in the galley was stuffy, and she didn't dare open the porthole for fear of letting in the cold wind, or something else even more unwelcome. She was close to saying some very bad things about Hook for putting her in such a miserable situation, when she heard strange noises.

There were hiccups, hoarse laughter from unfamiliar voices, slurring words in a strange language. This all came from the … pantry?

Straightening her sore shoulders, she crept closer, right hand resting on her dagger. Carefully she peeked around the corner – and froze. There, on one of the smaller wine-barrels, sat Bumblyn with a glass in his tiny hands. His flushed cheeks, glassy eyes and pronounced sway revealing he was far from sober. Beside him sat an unfortunate-looking pixie; his light green skin darker around his nose, staring into his own glass. His shoulders were bowed and he sniffled, while his pointed leaf-hat clung to the back of his head, exposing the fiery-red fluff he grew there.

On a second barrel sat a small figure, between one and two feet tall, dressed much like the pirates. He wore an old red woolen watchcap and torn clothes, a grey beard, sun-leathered skin, showing many wrinkles around his twinkling green-blue eyes. In addition, he smoked a little pipe held in one hand, and raised a glass in the other. The pleasant scent of pipe tobacco filled the air. He and Bumblyn were laughing together and talking to the unhappy pixie in their strange quick language.

A cross look flickered over her face. Hadn't the Hobgoblin said he would repay his debt and help her? So after the men and boys ate, here he sat with another bogey and the pixie (who seemed to have gone invisible for the last few hours), getting _drunk_. She cleared her throat from the doorway, and instantly the three stopped and whirled around to her. "Apologies for interrupting your chat, but perhaps Master Bumblyn can find it in his little heart to provide a helping hand, as he _promised_?"

Bumblyn grinned broadly. "Wendy? Tshish ish…" he started to slur, pointing at the other small guy, who had risen and lifted now his hat.

"_Señorita_, I am Esteban, the K – Kla – Klabauter (hic) -- the guardian sprite of this ship! Welcome aboard!"

Of course Wendy had heard about the ships' own warning ghosts, a kind of nyxx that appeared when the ship was in danger, but she had never thought that she would meet one of them. She curtsied, laying aside her annoyance. "Pleased to meet you."

He chuckled and looked her up and down. The girl really was a sight to behold in the Elfish clothes and hair styled as it was. Females aboard a ship were generally considered 'bad luck', but he knew it better. The girl was a blessing for the _Jolly Roger_, responsible for the softening of the Captain's adamantine heart. Yes, of course the nyxx had felt this in the commander's heart and mind, and he knew that the girl would bring more changes, changes for the better.

He examined the girl's very human treasures – dove-blue eyes, tender face, full lips, golden-brown hair – and smiled. Here was a girl who could turn a seaman's head – even Hook's! _'Aye, no wonder that the walls are collapsing and that bitter heart of his is starting to beat again.'_ "I knew this the moment I saw you the first time. When he treated you with arrogance, betraying his injured pride, sending you overboard, I thought he was making the biggest mistake of his life. Lucky for him, Peter showed up and all came out in the end." He spoke with a hard, strange accent and rolled the 'r' heavily in his throat.

"'Injured pride'?" Wendy repeated, "What do you mean?"

Esteban grinned. "_Caramba_, he hasn't heard someone say 'no' to him for a very long time. And when you told him you'd rather die than stay, this hurt him." He saw her surprised expression and chuckled. "_Si_, behind that hard shell beats a valuable heart in a passionate chest. He is far more noble compared to other pirate-captains. But even he can be fooled, as smart as he is." He shook his head, laughing suddenly, a huffing, snorgling sound. "A 'thimble'… Really, _Señorita_, that you managed to trick him with that weak disguise shows how much arrogance can blind!"

Wendy crossed her arms, frowning, realizing that the nyxx had seen everything during her captivity aboard. "You were there the whole time?

The ship's sprite nodded and took a sip from his glass. "Don't think badly of me for not interfering. It's not allowed to my kind."

Wendy nodded, understanding. She knew that sprites had their limits, and that seemed to be one of them. "A question, then." The nyxx nodded and puffed further at his pipe. "Your name, Sir, sounds Spanish to me as well as your accent, or I am mistaken?"

He grinned and grumbled: "No, _Señorita_. This is a Spanish galleon. I was first assigned to her in Valencia, where I gave her carpenter a hand, and accompanied her on her maiden voyage into the Mediterranean and past Gibraltar. But she didn't make it to her first port of call. This blue-eyed Englishman, who is now called James Hook, captured her on her maiden voyage and retained her. Not a bad change, if you ask me -- far better captain than the idiot who first commanded her – that rogue who only had time to preen himself in front of a mirror! _Prefiero_ the ship's new name. 'Jolly Roger' sounds better than _'Gloria-de-Mar'_ – si_?"_

Fascinated Wendy listened to Esteban's story. "So you stayed aboard?"

"_Por supuesto_!" he said, nodding vigorously. "When one of us is assigned as Klabautermann of a ship, this contract is for the life of the ship. We only leave when it is doomed to sink. And 'tis our duty to bring potential dangers to the commander's attention. Normally the captain of a ship listens when we try to warn him. But our 'blue-eyes' is sometimes blind and deaf in his hatred and lust for victory. Even if he could have seen me during the incident with you and the boy, he wouldn't have listened – even if I banged this hammer at his thick skull!" he pointed on a small hammer that was fastened at his belt.

The girl couldn't help herself – she snorted in amusement.

The Klabautermann lifted one thick brow. "_Qué_?"

Wendy started to laugh. "I was just picturing Hook's shocked expression after receiving a blow on his head when he couldn't see the attacker!"

Esteban laughed as well. "Would not be the first time!" he admitted. "He takes it for headache, born of stress or anger."

Wendy gasped for air, still laughing. "Good to know! You've given me ammunition to tease him with! He, the captain with eyes in the back of his head, doesn't even see his own Klabautermann! And he is so proud of seeing and hearing everything," the girl laughed. "Oh, just wait, James Hook! I have you! If you would have known what I learned here in the galley, you would never have sent me here – you … you pirate!"

Esteban grinned, discerning her intent. She wasn't really angry with the pirate-captain, but she could – and already had – shown Hook his limits; something the nyxx appreciated. Even a strong, intelligent and independent man like the captain of this ship needed wise counsel at times.

Bumblyn stared blearily at her. "Not good to teash him! He'd grow ang -- angry," he chirped and hiccupped anew.

The girl smirked. "His problem." Then she grew serious again as her glance moved to the sniffling pixie, pity woke in her. To see such a small creature like a pixie weeping was something that would touch anyone's heart. "Kailen, what's the matter?" she asked and knelt down next to him.

The pixie peeped something and started to drink from his nearly empty container. A big tear welled up in a large eye and rolled over his tiny, green cheek. Esteban puffed at his pipe and sent several smoke-rings into the air, then grumbled, "The same any time a sailor is ready to cry his eyes out: _el chicas_!"

Wendy frowned. "Beg pardon?"

The ship's warning sprite made a face. "Girls. He is love-sick!"

"Love-sick?" the girl gasped, immediately knowing the reason. "Aurora?" she asked softly.

Kailen nodded and hiccupped as well. "Showed 'im th' cold shoulder," Bumblyn murmured, bent down and whacked the pixie on the back, full of compassion.

Esteban sighed then growled, "Forget 'er! She's a fairy! What do you expect from her kind?"

The pixie stood shakily to his feet, his tiny green face a miniature study in noble outrage. "The most beautiful creature in the whole world she is!" he announced, before his face dissolved into a dreamy expression. "Her wings like a full moon on a warm summer-night they glow. Her skin a new-born pearl." His hands raised toward the rafters. "Her eyes like secret lakes in the forest and smells she does like a rosebud at sunrise!"

Bumblyn stared, one eye closed as if attempting to focus. "Esteban? Have you tha' witchin' hammer wi' you now?" he asked soberly. "Pixies and poetry! Janegar's jumpups, Kailen, take hold of yer green li'l self!"

"How be you so-o-o heartless?" the pixie chirruped, lowering itself again to the barrel.

"Well, I no more than your Aurora with her cold shoulders!" the Hobgoblin mocked.

A second later, he found an enraged pixie in his face, both glasses tumbling to the floor. "Speak like that of my Aurora you will NOT!" Kailen shouted, sounding quite comical because of his high voice.

Wendy glanced down on the mess on the floor, then Bumblyn and the angry, love-sick pixie and finally at the Klabautermann, who shook his head. "_Chico mozalbetes_ – those beginners!" he groused, but the warm shimmer in his blue-green eyes betrayed his compassion.

Sighing, the girl touched the pixie's shoulder with a fingertip. "Kailen? You should go to bed and take a nap. And you'll see, everything will look better tomorrow."

The ship's sprite jumped to the other barrel and bent to wrap one arm around the pixie. "Ah, _vayamos_, my love-sickened _amigo_! Forget the lass and explore with me the height of the ship's sails, the darkness of the bilge, and secrets within the hull. I swear, any male will forget a girl when he sees the beauty of a well-made ship, and…" Suddenly he grew silent. He lifted his head and listened carefully for something only he was able to hear.

"What is it?" the girl whispered, and the ship's warning ghost sliced the air with his gesture for silence.

Bumblyn and Kailen listened as well, but heard nothing. "What do you hear?" the larger one murmured, but the Esteban didn't answer at first.

Finally he replied softly, "She talks with me."

"Who?" the other three asked as one.

"The _Jolly Roger_! She sees something coming. Something deadly. Not today, but soon!" With a speed you never would have expected, Esteban jumped down from the barrel and to the door. "Stay here! I'll return shortly!"

No one, not even Wendy, dared to disobey. It would have been a foolish thing to do, to disobey a Klabautermann's order and warning – and, as you already know, even Hook listened to this special crewmember (when he saw him). Moments later he reappeared, out of breath. "I am not sure when, but they will come! Could be tomorrow, if we are quiet enough." He took a deep breath. "It ain't safe here anymore. Come with me!" he ordered, and waved impatiently at the girl.

Alarmed, Wendy rose. "What is it?"

"Harpies! They have discovered that more are aboard than before. They don't know from where they came, and that makes them nervous." He glanced at the girl. "The unicorn has tricked them, but the noise increased since you came aboard. They are no longer fooled. I'm sure that they will inform the dark wizard, and will come back." His gaze swept the galley. "Forget your duties here, come with me! It'll be safer n the captain's quarters. And Hook would lose more than one ally, if something happened to you, _Señorita_!" the nyxx told her, and flung the door open. "Come on! I'll show you another way to Hook's cabin! There is a safer passage than walking on deck!"

White-faced, Wendy exchanged a look with Bumblyn, heart beating in readiness to flee. "The boys!" she whispered, afraid, and ran out of the galley; the Hobgoblin and the pixie following. "No, Wendy!" the nyxx called her back, using her given name. "The Elf already took the boys back to your quarters, feeling the growing danger! Fine ears, those Elves!" He pointed to the passage on the other side of the companionway "Come! This way!"

As they moved through the passage, they met three buccaneers who stopped in their tracks when they saw the ship's sprite. It was priceless to see the grim, brutal pirates grow pale at the sight of the nyxx, who frowned at them. "What are you waiting for, brutes? Stay calm and watchful!" If Hook would have given this order, they couldn't have obeyed any more quickly. Unsheathing weapons, they nodded and climbed the companionway.

A golden-pink shimmer emerged in the dark passage and Aurora flew to them, concern written on her beautiful face. Esteban stared. "And here be the cause of your misery, Kailen!" he mocked, but the pixie didn't answer. He looked at the rose-fairy; his expression unreadable.

"The harpies have discerned our presence on the _Jolly Roger_," Wendy told the fairy. "Come with us!"

Aurora nodded and flew beside Wendy, twitching a gaze in the direction of Kailen, who pressed his lips together. No, this time he wouldn't fall for her games! The Klabautermann nodded down the passage. "That way, _mi amigos_!" He hastened along, the girl and her magical friends on his heels. He passed several doors – obviously leading to the crews' quarters – and tried to open a special port, which was locked. Cursing like a pirate Esteban pointed at Wendy's dagger. "Time to break in!"

The girl blinked at him. "What?"

The sprite gave a frustrated sigh. "Give the dagger to me!" Obeying, girl then lifted him to the lock, grunting with the effort. Never she had thought that such a little guy could be that heavy. Esteban stuck the thin dagger into the lock, and it shortly popped open. "Follow me!"

Wendy set him down and he vanished into the darkness, only his glowing pipe showing where he was. "Lantern beside the door, at the right!" he called and the girl reached for it. Seconds later they had it lit. They were in a small room, full of chests and unused furniture.

"What…?" the girl began.

"Hook's booty he ain't usin'," Esteban explained, moved over to the wall left of him and shoved at it. To the girl's amazement, it gave away and opened into a small passage, where the lantern revealed a small steep staircase. The Klabautermann pointed at it. "Up with you four! At the top is a door you just open by pushing it. You'll be in Hook's cabin. Close the secret door behind you – and don't talk about it. If he learns you know of his secret, you'll catch hell from him. _Comprendido_?" He waved impatiently again. "And now, hurry! I have to watch those fool pirates up there!"

Wendy caught his eye before he turned to leave. "Didn't you say that your kind never interferes, Señor Esteban?"

The sprite grinned. "Depends on the circumstances, _Preciosa_. My concern is always the ship! And if I don't keep the watch on the idiots, then they'll put the _Jolly Roger _in danger!"

The girl shook her head, "It really isn't hard to guess which Captain you're serving!"

The Klabautermann looked at her thoughtfully. "I serve no human – only the ship! But you're right. We nyxxes have that in common with the commanders of our ships. After all, we eat at their tables." He saw her eyes widening, and chuckled: "Of course without their knowing it!"

Wendy looked at Bumblyn and then at Esteban. "Well, there's not much difference between your kind and the Hobgoblins!"

The sprite laughed that strange sound again. "_Si_, just our looks! They are land creatures, we are at sea – but every community needs us!" He pointed upwards. "And now, move on! And bolt the door and the windows, and make no light or noise! We don't need those hags here!" With that he shot out of the door back toward the companionway.

Taking a deep breath, Wendy lifted her lantern. "All right, you three, come with me!" She climbed up the dark, steep stair, praying that they would have a peaceful night.

TBC…

Hi, everyone,

at first, like always, a biiiiiig thank-you for all the nice reviews. I really do love to read them and I am happy that my story thrills you all so much. Well, our dear Wendy had a not too bad start aboard the ship, despising her duties. But the time of rest will soon be over. For all who have waited for more information about our dear captain: please be patient. I didn't want to give away too much, because there will come more scenes you can learn something about him and his history - especially in the planned sequel.

Yes, correctly, I am planning a sequel. But about that I will inform you later.

In the next chapter our hereos are finally reaching S'Hadh's domain and there will be the tension that almost builds up before a great battle. Oh, and Kailen and Aurora will have a possibility to act together. So, be curious - the big thing is starting soon.

Love you all,

Lywhn


	27. Before The Battle

**Chapter 26 – Before The Battle **

Peter stared with a mixture of relief and alarm on the dark hole before them – the entrance to the warlock's domain, the 'portal to hell,' as it were. Beside him Hook took a deep breath, while Thalion and Giliath peered out of the small hole barely wide enough for a grown man to slip through. Tinker Bell, who was concealed in Giliath's hand to cover her golden light, looked over the Elf's fingers toward them and nodded.

This was it. They'd made it.

The eternal boy sighed. Finally. Yesterday, the day after that horrid nightmare, had been the longest of his life. He'd lost count how many caves they had trotted through, how often they paused while Tink recalled which turn to take. This journey under the earth had tired him out – even more than that hellish nightmare. He could understand the instinctual aversion of the Elves to being locked away in darkness, without fresh air and freedom. hat had John called it? Kiss – kloss -- claustrophobia? Well, he seemed to have a little of it, too, whatever it was. Next to him, Hook growled, and Peter felt a wave of compassion for this man. He knew that the pirate-captain and he shared the same discomfort. The buccaneer was accustomed to his freedom as he, Peter, was, and to be trapped in these endless tunnels must make him every bit as uneasy.

In earlier times the boy wouldn't have wasted a thought about Hook's state, but things between them had started to change – and this was part of those changes as well. Peter didn't want to think about this new … business … with the pirate-captain, but he couldn't deny that he was grateful for Hook's help the night before last.

Yesterday morning, upon awakening, he had been embarrassed and hadn't dared to look at the man, ashamed of how weak he had appeared in front of his worst enemy, and of his joyful outburst to find him alive, therefore declaring to one and all there that he didn't hate the man anymore; and that couldn't be – could it? but damn – it happened! Somehow, deep in his careless carefree buoyant heart, he had started to _care_ for James Hook … just a little bit … and it unnerved him. And he knew that his opponent felt likewise.

Biting his lower lip, Peter looked at the tall figure beside him, who was this moment barely more than a shadow, clad head to toe in black. Only the coat showed the elaborate decorations. But black was the color of choice to avoid attracting any attention. Therefore, the group had used the minimum number of torches and lanterns as they approached their destination, also proceeding slowly and very quietly, in case that some of S'Hadh's servants were near or standing guard.

Now, positioned before the final cave, the only resource they could depend on for information about their surroundings were the sharp ears of the Elves. Giliath and the others listened very carefully to the darkness outside. Two days enclosed beyond the surface of this world, with no sounds of life around him (audible as well as mental sounds), had weakened him, and he seemed to have difficulty breathing from time to time. He felt as if his skin had shrunk. In addition, echoes of the wizard's attack still lingered in his soul and he longed to lie down at the base of one of the tall trees of his homeland, desperate for the healing nature of the place to ease and fill his spirit once again. He had never thought that remaining under the earth, surrounded by no more than stones, could afflict him so strongly, but he knew he needed the same cures he had given the others, those who had come searching for healing when they came to his valley.

Thalion looked closely at his friend. "_Sut naa lle umien_ – where is your heart?" he asked quietly.

Giliath glanced for a moment at him, and saw the same mental torment in the dark eyes of the commander. "_Nador istar_ – cowardly wizard!" he almost cursed while he stroked his forehead, and earned a smile from his friend. Then both Elves listened again, but heard nothing. No movement, no breathing, no other sounds that would reveal that they were walking into a trap. Far away they heard footsteps in the darkness, but they were retreating. "I think our way is clear," the younger of the Elves whispered toward the boy and man. The news was passed back to the rest of the group.

Hook nodded. "Why do we wait?"

Giliath grinned. There was it again: the same vital energy, the same impatience … by the stars of home, sometimes Peter and Hook reminded him of son and father. "All right," he said in a whisper they barely heard. "Let us review again our new strategy, as we decided yesterday evening."

Hook and Peter sighed identical sighs – after all, they had gone through the whole thing more than four times yesterday evening before crawling into bedrolls. They had changed their whole plan of attack, just a bit, after Nibs had pointed out that their greatest danger would meet them inside the 'Mount of No Return'. (This had resulted in an admiring whistle from the Elf commander.)

Once the cannons had done their job, the wizard would pull servants from every corner of the island to prevent them from penetrating his headquarters. So the plan was, before the attack, to keep the main force of the allies hidden near the central passage where many of the lesser ones met, to intercept their enemies. During that time, Giliath and a dozen other Elves would make their way to the cave opening, and wait there for the fireworks to begin. Thalion, Hook, Peter and the others would contrive a trap to welcome their enemies in a way they would long remember – if they survived.

Quickly Giliath repeated their plan, and as they all nodded, the younger Elf murmured: "I'll go first, then you, Captain, and you, Peter. Your crew, captain, will walk between our warriors. We will sense our foes sooner. Thalion will be the rearguard."

Hook nodded and signaled Smee to approach him. The old Irishman obeyed, the exertions of the last two days clear on his face (not to mention that the nights before hadn't been restful.) With hushed voice, Hook gave the order, and the boatswain passed it along to the crew.

"Now it counts," Peter murmured and took a deep breath. "If things go right, Aurora will wait for us near the entrance. If not, we have a problem."

The man made a face. "Since when did you turn into such a dismal prognosticator, Pan?"

The boy tried a grin and rubbed his eyes. A permanent headache rested there since the- last heavy nightmare two nights ago, and he wasn't used to it. "Since I started keeping company with you." A low chuckle was his answer, until Hook caught the warning gaze of the Elfish commander, and grew quiet again – not without a silent scowl at Thalion, who simply ignored it.

Giliath slipped nimbly through the hole, wormed between two high stalagmites in front of him into the wide cave, and crouched down behind another pillar; his senses extended in every direction. He dropped his mental shield and stretched his thoughts out toward every living being in their vicinity. He was instantly flooded with the darkest emotions: jealously, hatred, bloodlust, strife and unbridled greed; but also with the coldest uncaring apathy this side of hell. Shuddering, the Elf held his ground and concentrated on those nearby, who might be an immediate danger to the allies. He could tell, with some relief, that the timing of their arrival was the best they could have asked for; though he knew it wasn't luck.

One troop of evil-smelling creatures (the Elf expected they were goblins) tramped away from them, deeper into the mountain, while several smaller creatures were in an adjacent cave. Otherwise, the way was free. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded, the signal for Thalion to lead the group into the enemy's domain.

Peter slipped behind the commander through the hole and wrinkled his nose. The smell of rotten eggs had been with them for awhile, but as they crossed the threshold into the main cave of their foes, the smell grew sickening. The boy pressed his hand over his nose and exchanged a quick glance with Hook, right behind him. The man whispered with loathing, "Brimstone!"

"Know any other curses?" Peter hissed quietly, and the man gave him a sneer.

"Alas, boy, the extent of your ignorance is astounding! What we are smelling here is brimstone. Sulphur. We are in a volcano – a sleeping volcano which could turn active at any moment. And of course it is full of brimstone!"

Peter turned his face, blushing. He hated it when Hook knew more than he! A warm hand on his shoulder made him look up, and he faced Giliath, who put his index-finger on his lips. "From this moment on, absolute silence!" he barely murmured and looked intensely at the two opponents, who nodded promptly. Then the Elf turned toward Tink, who was snuggled in his cape on his shoulder. "You have to lead us now, _coll heryn_ – golden mistress."

Tink, who was deeply pleased with her title, pointed to the left, and Giliath took the lead –Unnoticed by anyone else, he gripped Peter's hand and pressed it momentarily. His young friend looked up to him, surprised by the action, and Giliath winked back, while allowing another portion of his blessing to flow into the boy's mind. He saw the widening eyes, then the realization and finally the grateful glance of the leader of the Lost Boys. Yes, they both were weakened – not only because of S'Hadh's mental assault, but also from lack of sleep – but together they would make it!

-----------------------------------

Wendy yawned and stretched between the comfortable pillows and blankets. The mattress was perfect: not too soft, not too firm. And then the satin… This bed was pure luxury and she didn't intend to leave it anytime soon. _Just a moment! Satin? Strange mattress? Many pillows?_

At last fully awake she sat up and blinked through the elegant cabin, for a second not understanding where she was, or why she was here – where ever 'here' might be. Then the memory of yesterday returned, and groaning, she let herself flop back into the pillows.

Michael, who slept beside her, grumbled a protest and pulled the blanket higher. Well, at least he had agreed to sleep in the bed of Captain Hook. Wendy rubbed her eyes. She hadn't thought that she could sleep so deeply, especially after Esteban had told them that the harpies knew something new was aboard. The mere thought that those horrid creatures could attack the ship had made her sick and angry.

But then she had to calm the nervous boys (and an even more nervous Bumblyn), and had overcome her fear enough to lie down beside her little brother. And slowly the comfortable bed, the familiar scent and the noises of the ship had dragged her, with sleek soft strands, to a dream-filled sleep. She had lingered there, and their danger had not lessened while she slept.

Suddenly she heard a mumble near her, and realized what had been the reason for her awakening. Lifting her head, she peeked over to the ottoman and found the Twins still slumbering. Then the mumble came again, and, yes, it did come from the ottoman. Frowning Wendy sat up. At last she saw that it was the pixie who shifted uncomfortably on one of the cushions, beneath a towel he used – like Bumblyn – as a blanket. The girl grinned. It was certain as the sky of a bright summer day that the sprite would have a hangover. And she knew that the Hobgoblin, who snored like an old seaman on one of the chairs at the dining-table again, was going to share this unpleasant experience.

Suddenly a golden-pink shower of fairy-dust lanced through the room, and Aurora flew to her; obviously glad to see her awake. She jingled something and Wendy cocked her head, regretting deeply that she didn't understand the fairy's language. "I'm sorry," she whispered to avoid waking the boys," but I'm afraid I don't understand you."

The rose-fairy sighed, pointed at herself, then to the windows and finally into the direction of Neverland. The girl held her breath. "You … you're flying to Neverland. Is it already time?"

Aurora nodded and signaled a ten with her fingers. Wendy gasped. "It's ten o'clock?" she squeaked, promptly waking the boys with it.

Giggling the rose-fairy watched the small human children jumping up as if they'd all been stung by hornets.

"What was that?"

"Something wrong?"

"Where are the harpies?"

The girl turned to look at her brother and the Twins and tried to hide her smile. "Sorry, boys, no harpies, no danger here." Her glance found Aurora. "But for our little friend, it now becomes quite risky."

Michael sat up beside her and rubbed sleepy eyes, looking at the fairy. "Whatcha doin'?"

Wendy sighed. "She flies to Neverland to find our friends inside of the 'Mount of No Return', near the entrance." Michael, tousled, not quite awake, sat uncomprehendingly. "You remember? She's the messenger between them and us and will give us the time when the _Jolly Roger_ must open fire."

The Twins jumped up. Of course they had been told about the whole plan, but now, as the time had come, they were worried for the fairy.

"You have to be --

"—very careful."

"And don't get caught!" The final words were spoken by all three boys, and not quietly.

"_Inshiminastolorinaskaniativelianoschelankanioskanitty!_ Can't a poor Hobgoblin just sleep?" the peeping voice of Bumblyn groaned from the dining area.

"Don't drink so much, then you wouldn't have that problem!" Twin 1 called.

Michael nodded. "Yes! You were drunk as a skunk –"

"Michael, language!" Wendy interrupted – and earned a pitiable moan from the ottoman. "And welcome to the land of the living, Master Pixie!" she teased.

On the ottoman, the small heap under the thick towel twitched. At first two long pointy ears were revealed, then a shock of fiery red hair and finally a face. Pixies have a pale green skin, as everyone knows – but the face of Kailen was almost the color of an olive. If someone could be called "feeling green," then it fitted the sprite now. "What's happenin'?" he cheeped and rubbed his head with a really pathetic expression.

Aurora propped her fists on her little rose hips, shot him an irritated glare, flew to Wendy, and pressed a tiny kiss to her cheek. She then flew to the windows, opened one of them with a strength that belied her size, and vanished into the darkness outside. "Be careful!" Wendy called with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"She goes where?" Kailen chirped, a little more awake than before; his large slanted eyes beginning to clear.

Wendy rose. "She's on her mission," she said as softly as possible, suddenly realizing that no one had thought to tell the pixie about what Aurora's responsibility was in this whole affair.

"Her mission?" Kailen asked alarmed, suddenly wide awake – and quite sober.

The girl nodded and walked over to him, sitting on the seat between the Twins (who instantly snuggled closer to her), and briefly explained what Aurora had offered to do for the allies.

The pixie's eyes seemed to come out of his tiny head, and as the girl had finished, he peeped: "But … but suicide that is! The skies of Alrinachs and harpies are full! And … and trolls and Goblins at that entrance … and the storm …! So tiny and fragile is she! She could be blown off course or … or one of those hags could get her …" He stared at the open window and his face suddenly took on a very resolved expression. Without another word, he lifted into the air and shot out of the window like a pale yellow-green comet, without his hat.

"Kailen!" Wendy called after him, shocked, while Bumblyn, who had managed to rise and steadied himself now on the backrest of the chair he had slept on, shook his head, grumbling something about "lovestruck idiot." He moaned as he became dizzy and closed his eyes before he straightened. But his drooping ears, and the tail wrapped around the backrest for support gave his true condition away. He sighed and murmured something in his language.

"Like I said, Love is blind!" came the raspy accented voice from the desk, and the children jumped up with a yelp. Esteban sat smugly on Hook's desk, smoked his pipe and rolled his blue-green eyes. "World-weary fool!" he grumbled, and glided down on the floor.

Wendy's eyes stayed on the window, some of the fairy's dust still decorating the sill. "I'm glad he's going with her," she said quietly.

Several of Hook's charts fell off the desk, but he ignored them. "Close the window, _Señorita_! I am certain that those screeching hags are near." He took a deep breath and looked worried suddenly. "Neptune, stay with us! I don't want to have to leave this ship!"

------------------------------

Aurora fought her way through the whirling cold. Above her, she thought she could hear the screams of harpies, and wrapped her tiny arms around her. It was completely dark. She stilled, and only the cracking noises from breaking floes at the cliffs of the Pirate's Cove told her in which direction she had to fly. Normally fairies are not easily disoriented, but these conditions...

Eerie sounds echoed through the air, piercing even the sighing of the wind, and the rose-fairy felt her heartbeat quicken. Suddenly it came to her – how lost she was out here, over the frozen sea, in the middle of endless darkness, flying beneath hungry harpies and Alrinachs and on her way into the lion's den. She had been crazy to offer this kind of help! It had been imprudent and wanton, without consideration of the consequences. For a moment she cursed herself, but then she remembered that she was doing it not only for the Prince of Neverland and his friends, or the Elves, or that silly pixie, or that handsome, one-handed human always battling the eternal boy. No! She was doing it for her home! For her family and friends! For the flowers and animals the fairies protected, and the seeds of future generations. And she was doing it for other mortals, the ones over there in that strange faraway world the human girl came from – for those mortals who still believed in her kind and in this island!

Collecting her nerve, she held herself close to the frozen surface, hoping that her fairy-light wouldn't give her away to the enemies far above that she was here. Suddenly a strange benign breeze graced her and startled she looked up – directly into a beautiful white face. For a moment Aurora thought her heart would stop, because she knew exactly what it was she was seeing.

"Hello, little sister of the flowers. Where do you fly to?" The voice was soft and tempting, and the rose-fairy started to tremble. She knew that her tiny singing voice was too soft to be heard by the Alrinach, and therefore she couldn't drive the fog-creature away with a song. The Alrinach stretched one finger toward her; the smile on the ghost's face was calming and compassionate – a mask. "Isn't it strange to find one of your kind here, over the sea, coming from _that_ ship?"

Aurora scowled at the Alrinach before she gave a rude answer. The ghost-like creature laughed and tried to touch her with one finger. "Why so cross, little fairy? You may be tiny, but your energy is strong. Why do you want to waste it by fighting the storm my feathered sisters rule? I can offer you shelter! Warmth!"

Aurora almost laughed. She knew what the Alrinach meant by that. Normally she would have flit past them to escape, but she didn't dare make a fuss, for that might attract the harpies' attention, which would be worse – for her and the ship. Heart sinking, she looked at the Alrinach and saw with horror that the daughter of fog stretched one long deadly finger nearer to her. A touch would be fatal to a fairy, that she knew. Thoughts warring between her fear and urge to flee or to fight (a hopeless fight, of course), she tried desperately to think of how she might trick the Alrinach, but nothing came. She could only stare helplessly, frozen by fear, at the approaching finger; her tiny stomach knotted in dismay.

Suddenly, a pale green light flashed between her and the ghost-like creature and she heard a familiar voice cheeping, "Shut your ears!" The moment she pressed her tiny hands on her ears, she felt a shudder possess her, as the pixie's terrible screech echoed through the air – not loud enough to be heard by the dark creatures above them, but loud enough for the Alrinach.

Pixies are known for many things – bad and good. Tales are told that they work hard, even for humans, if they like them. They also are known to care for nature, to keep it in balance, and take care of trees, bushes and mushrooms. On the other hand, it is also told that they take ponies for wild rides through the night, and their masters find them sweaty and exhausted the next morning. Or the pixies play tricks on humans by leading getting them into a wilderness to get lost, as already explained. But one thing to remember about the pixie's scream: it is terrifying, and those who have heard it swear that it begins with a noise like a bloody brawl, and grows and grows, increasing in intensity, until the human goes mad. And it is not unheard of that some people, having fallen prey to a pixie's scream, stay mad. This scream is the strongest weapon of this small folk – and is only used in great danger.

But on this awful morning, Kailen used it not as a defense, but to attack – and on behalf of a fairy! (More about the history of those two little folks later.)

The highly-focused scream, born of anger and a heart sworn to protect, acted on the wispy creature much like warm water on spun sugar. Indeed, Alrinachs are unable to withstand joyous music, but the scream of a pixie produces an amazing result. The creature twisted, squirmed, wrapped up inside itself, all the time shrinking. It whimpered, retreated, and might have begged if its voice had not been stolen by the scream. On and on went the sound, Aurora's hands over her ears, watching the Alrinach grow smaller and smaller. The ice under it even cracked, and Kailen pursued it as it shrank … to a small, dark smoking pebble.

Kailen landed next to it and gave it a kick under a crested ice floe just as it ground down to sink into the ice, nodding with grim satisfaction. "Mess you NOT with my girl!" he finished, and turned toward Aurora, who stood shivering behind him. She still held her hands over her ears and looked apprehensively at him. The pixie sighed and flew to land beside her. "Well be you?"

She only blinked at him, and smirking, he pulled one hand gently away from her ear and asked the question again. Aurora took a deep breath; her language was clearly understood by the pixie, "By all the flowers, why did you follow me? I thought you ill."

Kailen made a face, his own language not that that different from that of the fairies. "That I am – and now a headache, too. Tiresome it is to cry out such as that."

The fairy lowered her eyes shyly, while she let her other hand drop. She murmured: "You saved my life again." She glanced up. "Why?"

Kailen scratched his head, vaguely noticing that he'd forgotten his hat. "Well … I like you – even if you are an arrogant--"

"Hey!"

He grinned sheepishly, then noticed that their hands were still entangled. Pearl-white against pale green, which didn't matter for the moment.

Aurora was glad she was not alone out here, but had someone with her who could speak with her and was – almost – her size – she reached to his chin. he looked up to Kailen's face and had to smile, for a snowflake landed on his turned up nose. He wasn't ugly – for a pixie, of course. And he was nice – uh … as well for a pixie. "Would … would you come with me?" she asked shyly.

Kailen shrugged. "The reason I followed you, it is."

Her face lit up. "For sure?"

He nodded. "Aye. Someone must keep watch over you, for well known you be for getting into troubled waters."

Aurora gasped. "Not. True!"

The pixie smirked now. "Is too! Remember the marshes? And knowing an important job you have to do, aid I now give."

The rose-fairy frowned. "If you be so averse to assist me, then don't bother! I'll get there without you!" he moved to rise into the air, but the pixie still held her hand.

"Hey! Here you go again! The tiniest thing not agreeing with you, and insulted you be. And the mortals call us 'easily offended'!" He sighed. "Meant I not to offend when I spoke of looking after you. As you must needs know – a weak spot for mischief have we pixies."

She glanced down on him, still in the air; waiting. Kailen moaned and rubbed his tiny face. "Why not? I'm sorry. Satisfied?"

Aurora nodded slowly and pointed then toward the direction of Neverland. "We must move with a great swiftness. We are to meet the troop behind the enemy inside of the 'Mount of No Return', and I there will be others like this Alrinach on the way."

The pixie lifted himself into the air and remained beside her while they flew the short distance over the frozen sea. "Who is all in this group – beside the Prince of Neverland and his friends?" The rose-fairy told of the allies – and the pixie's eyes grew wide. He murmured: "So, more Elves there are. Good. And those who follow the one-handed man. Seen them I have when they hunt. They are able; no doubt." He glanced at her "No other fairies with the boy?"

"Only Tinker Bell, his … friend and protector." She gave him a short glare, ready to pay him back for his rude comments. "Luckily, I must admit! Otherwise I would be the one to save the day, coming with a pixie!"

Kailen stared at her. "And what would my friends say to see me helping a fairy?"

"A few select and unpleasant comments – normal for your kind."

"And thought I that you could become a little nicer!" Kailen groaned.

"I am nice," she said, giving him sweet smile. "I only --"

The loud screech above them made the fairy's mouth snap shut, and both sprites looked up. Above them the huge shadow of a harpy passed over, difficult even for the sharp eyes of the fairy and the pixie to see. But they knew that the winged daughter of the wind had sharp eyes, too, and so they searched quickly for cover between the floes; clinging to each other for comfort and warmth, while they once again forgot the ancient feud between their kinds.

--------------------------------

Peter peeked over a stony ledge down into the shadows, dimly lit by torches hanging in iron sconces on the walls beneath him. Raspy voices were heard below, and even if they weren't that quiet, he couldn't understand a word, because they were spoken in a strange tongue; a tongue that almost hurt the boy's ears.

A movement behind him startled him for a moment, before he felt the fabric of Hook's coat at his back, the buccaneer crouching down behind him. "Didn't I tell you to stay close?" Hook whispered, almost too softly to be heard, but obviously angry.

"This is important," the boy murmured back. "It's a kind of common-room – maybe for the guards."

Hook lifted a brow and bent over to see better – without result. He sighed and silently wished for the Elves' sharp eyes.

They had split up from Giliath, his twelve men and Tinker Bell several minutes ago, after they reached something like an intersection, hearing footsteps tramping through the dim light given by torches that hung sporadically along the walls of the tunnels. Peter had wished his Elf friend the best and – something he rarely did – asked him to be careful, before he said the same to Tink. The star-fairy would lead the Elves to the outer opening, and was quite reluctant to leave Peter behind. Yes, of course he was well protected by the others, but she had a bad feeling.

Then they parted, and some had begun to explore the caves around them. This was anything but safe, but it had to be done to know where they could install traps and ambushments. And so they devised a point of rendezvous, where they would meet again in an hour. They had found a sort of weapons chamber, almost empty – a certain sign that the dark one's servants were armed to the teeth. But the small cave offered cover, and so they decided that the main body would remain here, while smaller groups explored.

No reconnaissance group had more than five persons, being easier to conceal if some danger came near. Of course Peter had wanted to go on alone, but Hook wouldn't let him and insisted that they stay together. "Love to see you face your maker, Pan – as well as finish you off m'self – but, regrettably, you are needed to save the day. So be reasonable for once and obey!" he had said, more out of habit than intent.

The boy stuck his tongue out at him and took the lead with the words: "As if _you_ could defend _me_!"

Thalion shook his head as he watched them vanish, together with another Elf and two buccaneers into the darkness, to explore the passage on their left. The commander had taken two of his own men with him to have a closer look at the passage to their right. The others had to wait for their return, well hidden in the small cave, and – of course – silent as mice!

And now, only a minute ago, Peter had found this common-room. His attention had been piqued by the noises the dark horde made. Curious, he crept closer to the grunting and growling, until the pirate-captain had suddenly missed him and found him here. "What do you see?" Hook murmured.

"Many goblins – and trolls," the boy replied, and shifted to make room for the pirate-captain so that the man could see over the edge as well. Uneven steps, roughly carved out of the stones, led down from their level to the large cave – a natural anteroom. He saw many coarsely fashioned tables and chairs where a giant troll perched; playing a sort of dice-game, while nearly two dozen goblins sat on smaller chairs, drinking and eating greedily. Hook made a look of disgust. _'Those creatures make pigs look mannerly,'_ he thought with disgust.Behind him, the two crew-members and the Elf slipped into the opening.

Hook frowned as their difficulty became apparent. "When it comes to the battle, they can and will aid the others, and we would be trapped," he thought aloud, barely audible to the boy's sharp ears.

Peter nodded slowly. "Aye! This could mess up our plan."

Hook sneered soundlessly – not at the boy, but rather the situation. Then his attention was drawn back onto the dark creatures below them. One troll seemed to lose at the dice game, because he suddenly jumped up, roared something definitely uncomplimentary to his comrade, and moved to hit him – with the result that the other one jumped up as well (the chair clattered backward) and returned the attack. Within the blink of an eye, a rough brawl ensued – and Hook jerked his head at the boy, indicated they should go back. Now was the best time to leave the ledge without being seen, because the goblins built a ring around the two fighters and were cheering, while the other trolls growled something in their own tongue, possibly cheering their fellow.

The brawl was in full progress and had the complete attention of the sinister creatures. The five allies tried to return to the passage, moving with outmost caution; everyone of them – for pirates, Elf and boy knew that everything would be lost, if they were uncovered now. Any chance for a surprise attack would be gone.

Almost it seemed they would accomplish this ...

Almost!

But one of the pirates, Jean LeFond (a small Frenchman with short dark hair, dark eyes and a partiality for red-wine – ahem!) stumbled on the uneven cave floor, and several small stones were loosened, scuffling into the depths.

The brawl made an awful din, and normally the sound of falling pebbles wouldn't be heard under such circumstances, but, as Mr. Murphy assures us, if something can go wrong, it will. One goblin who stood nearby heard it. The ugly head of the dark creature swiveled around and its yellow eyes peered into the darkness, searching for the cause of the fall.

Jean LeFond pressed himself into the shadows; holding his breath. If those beasts down there saw him, he didn't know which was worse – to be killed by them or to face Hook's rage. Beside him, an Elf closed the distance to him, laid a hand on his shoulder and glanced at him, before he closed his eyes.

For a moment, LeFond was taken aback._ 'Mon Dieu! T'at pointy-eared magician has some nerve – napping in t'is situation!' _shot it through his mind. Nextmoment, he felt a warm sensation washing over him, like the soft wind of a spring-day, and his vision seemed to blur. Pirates are outlaws and criminals, but most are not fools. And so the Frenchman realized that the Elf was covering them both with a glamour. He felt himself relaxing. Even if these creatures made him uneasy from the very first moment, he now felt a definite sense of relief and gratitude.

A movement at his feet woke his attention and he saw a big, fat rat, obviously summoned, running past them, stopping at the edge of the ledge, looking down at the fight, peeped and ran away. The goblin cursed something in his hoarse tongue about "rats" being "unwelcome" and returned to the brawl, cheering together with his fellows once again.

Both pirate and Elf let out their breaths. That was too close!"Hurry now!" the Elf whispered, and LeFond was quite happy to obey. Quickly as possible, they caught up with the others, and the Frenchman avoided the dark glare of his captain, murmuring only a "Sorry, Sir," as he caught up. Hook growled quietly, meeting Peter's raised eyebrows and look of relief. Both of their hearts had nearly stopped.

The captain glanced at Cookson, the other pirate with him. "Mr. Cookson, stay close to this cave, and report to me what activities go on here, any changes, substitutions or eliminations, and so on." His look was dark. "See it as a way for you to make up for your disobedience three days ago in the Black Castle!"

With that, he swept further into the passage. Peter remained with him, curious, relieved that at last the boredom was over. And they formed a plan to eliminate the danger that the goblins and trolls represented in the common-room.

Suddenly he halted mid-step and Hook almost ran into him. "Brimstone and gall!" the pirate-captain hissed. "Couldn't you warn me, b--?"

Peter's hand was suddenly pressed to his mouth. "Quiet! Or do you want to alarm the whole mountain?"

Hook was too aware of the danger to protest, but what had this urchin dared to do? And to _him_? Peter didn't waste a thought on his behavior, gripping the buccaneer's sleeve, and pulling him to a small niche, then waved to the Elf and LeFond to follow him. "Listen," he began quickly, hushed. "I have an idea how to finish those guards off!" He glanced at the Elf. "Elfin arrows can pierce troll-skin, as my friends and I found out when Giliath first met us." The tall man nodded. "So if five or six Elves stay on the ledge above the common-room, and send arrows and bullets down on them at the first sound cannon-fire, they'll have no chance! You can wipe out the entire group, and afterward, you can join the rest of us again. It's easy!"

Hook stared at the boy and wondered why he hadn't figured that out himself. Dammit! He _hated_ it when the boy showed a quicker mind than he!

"A good plan," the Elf said and gave the human child an encouraging smile. He had also contrived a similar plan, but, of course, he was far too sensible to mention it now.

Hook saw all three looking at him expectantly, made a face and grumbled something about, "All right, fine."

Peter slapped him on his left shoulder. "See, Hooky, that wasn't so hard, was it!"

The buccaneer gave him a distasteful look (how he would love to lay the boy over his knee again!)

Grinning to himself, Peter left the niche to explore again a part of his island he had never seen before – quite excited, and forgetting all about that headache.

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Giliath, with Tink hidden under his collar, crept with his twelve comrades through the last part of the passage just before the outer opening. Even knowing there would be no time to enjoy the liberty and fresh air that awaited them beyond the caves, he was hoping for a bit of clear air, even only a few minutes. He ached to leave this prison beneath the earth and to hear and feel the life under the sky again. The discomfort of incarceration within stony walls in eternal darkness was like an itch he couldn't reach beneath his skin, making him eager to finish the distance to freedom. But between it and him were enemies which he could not allow to discover him, and so he had to wait until the mortals fired those weapons they called cannons.

He didn't need to look at the other Elves. He knew his comrades felt the same. At last, cold fresh air pierced the rank smell of brimstone, another clue that they were near the opening. Again, silent as shadows, they crept through the last leg, and glanced around a rocky corner.

There it was! the entrance – wide and high. Fourteen goblins and two large trolls were on watch, sitting or standing near two huge catapults, facing outward. The dark creatures were also heavily armed with bows, arrows, swords and pikes, while the trolls had cudgels on their make-shift belts. Underestimating this crew would be a fatal mistake, and Giliath was glad that the cannons of the pirate-ship would do most of the heavy work.

The cold clean air seemed to call to the Elves; this knowledge – there lay the end of the torment of their souls! – pulled at them, but they were, after all, warriors. More than that, ancient and experienced men as well, even if none of them looked older than a human in his twenties. And so they set their jaws against the yearning, and waited patiently a safe distance away for the rose-fairy to arrive.

Hopefully!

Giliath did not want to think about the reason or the consequences if their little sister did not come, but he sat chewing his thumb nail, considering alternative measures, just in case.

They were behind a corner, in the shadows of several pillars of rock, and Tink slipped out of her hideout, offering to watch the opening for Aurora's arrival. Giliath gratefully nodded, and tried to relax after the golden fairy vanished. He exchanged a glance with his comrades and leaned back at the rough wall. The only thing they could do now was wait ...

Tink slipped an eye around the corner and watched the guards, who all seemed completely bored. One of the goblins had finally started a simple game of cards, which the two trolls watched with some interest – if you could read anything in their flat faces besides wrath. Using the many stones near the wall to hide, Tinker Bell slipped past several of them and warily watched the goblins, which belonged to the so called 'Unseelies' – a common name for all dark, sinister and creatures of the darkness who bring calamity. She prayed that none of them would see her friend's arrival. The troll could easily be fooled, being anything but clever. But the goblins were shrewd, sometimes intelligent, and full of evil.

Sighing, she tucked her knees and wrapped her tiny arms around them; praying yet again that her friend would reach her safely, and settled in to wait. It seemed hours later, though it was only moments, when she saw something like a soft pink shimmer near the goblins' feet, creeping through the entrance, while the Unseelies were distracted with their silly game. At the same time, Tink felt a presence behind her – not evil, but warm – and glanced back. Giliath stole a look out of the shadows and she lifted her finger to quiet him, and pointed toward the corner of the entrance.

The man's gaze followed her gesture, and she saw the concern on his beautiful face. They both now held their breath. Giliath had grown impatient, and as he now saw the rose-fairy, a deep relief washed over him – only to be replaced a moment later with a greater concern: If those _Morierea_ – dark ones – would see the fairy, their plan was forfeit in the wink of an eye. Then he saw that Aurora wasn't alone – and frowned. At her side was a tiny figure, only an inch taller than she, who shielded most of her fairy-light. Even Giliath had to blink to see clearer who was accompanying the fairy – and lifted both brows in amazement as he finally recognized what her companion was. _Extraordinary!_

Tink had espied as well that her friend had company, and stared in shock at the one beside Aurora, as she recognized his race -- _a pixie?_ By the flowers of the Ancient Forest, how had it come to be that a _pixie_ was Aurora's companion? Had her friend lost her mind? She crouched, shaking her head, and waited for the rose-fairy to reach them.

Aurora threw wary glances at the enormous (compared to her) goblins and the even more gigantic trolls, while she clung to Kailen's hand, and stayed close to him; his presence most comforting for her. The way up into the mountains had cost them both more time than they thought it would, because the entire way seemed to be filled with nasty creatures, and they had to seek cover again and again. Aurora had hoped that she would meet several of her kind to get reinforcements, should she be attacked again, but every fairy seemed to have hidden somewhere safe (if there was such a place as that left in Neverland).

Like Aurora, the pixie, too, had hoped the same and had looked for his own kind, but none of them seemed nearby. And so the little allies had to find their way all alone, avoiding the harpies and Alrinachs, more afraid than they'd ever been before in their lives. And the very thought of flying all that way back to the ship, facing those dangers and the cold all over again, was pure horror. As they finally neared the entrance, they had to flit from cover to cover, anxious that the guards would see them, until they reached the opening. And now they were creeping through the shadow along the wall, and hoping beyond hope to avoid discovery.

They could smell the foul rank of the goblins, feel the evil in the air (which, under normal conditions, drove every sprite and fairy away) and could hear the rough movements of the trolls, while the creatures exchanged foul jokes with each other. If only one of them glanced in their direction, it was all over.

Suddenly Kailen's eyes widened, and something like relief appeared on his face. Aurora followed his gaze and perceived the graceful movement in the shadows beyond the first corner, while a warm breeze seemed to stroke her mind. That could mean only one thing: Elves. And then she saw a dim golden light at the feet of the Elf, and saw her friend Tinker Bell. For a moment her face lit up. _'Thank the Maker, the others has made it, too!_

Still careful, they crept onward, and Aurora finally gripped Tink's hand, who smiled happily as they met and pulled her into the shadows away from the view of the goblins, Kailen at their heels.

The rose-fairy flew around the corner and bumped against a leg clad in soft boots, while Kailen ran into her, murmuring an apology. The leg's owner crouched down in front of them. Kailen looked up and directly into a beautiful human face, framed with nearly white silky hair, and recognized the gentle smile of relief above him. Warmth graced his thoughts, too, and a pale hand was offered, palm open. Gladly the pixie climbed on it, still holding tightly to Aurora. Tink followed them, still taken aback by the pixie's presence.

The Elf carefully closed his fingers around them to hide their light, then he rose soundlessly and returned the way he came. They soon reached the other Elves; their bodies almost melting with the darkness. "I am most pleased that you are unharmed, Aurora," Giliath whispered and gave the pixie a warm smile. "Who is your friend?"

Tink nodded, demanding the riddle's solution, and glared suspiciously at the pixie; her blue eyes showing her distrust. The rose-fairy introduced Kailen, who bowed as far as he could, his shock of red hair brushing the Elf's palm, and Aurora quickly told her friend and the Elves how they came to be traveling together. Kailen saw the star fairy's eyes growing as she heard how he had saved her friend twice, and grinned at her.

Then Kailen looked again at the Elf. A part of him wanted to smile; the other to fall on his face with respect as he looked up at the ageless being, who nodded graciously to him with the words. "It is most advantageous for all of us that you came to her rescue, my friend, and that you to choose to stay by her side."

Kailen felt heat rising into his cheeks, any remains of the hangover now fully dissipated, and turned his eyes to Aurora with a warm gaze, which told Giliath enough. A smile lit up his eyes, despite the dangerous situation they were in. He didn't need to listen to their thoughts to know the pixie's emotions toward the rose-fairy. Love does find itself under strange circumstances!

"How are the others? Is everything ready aboard? Was anyone hurt as they traveled to the ship?" Giliath asked, and Aurora and Kailen gave him a short report. Of course they mentioned the unicorn – which left Tink and the Elves gasping – and the Klabautermann, which seemed to unnerve Giliath. Lorilhi, one of the other Elves, pulled a bit of Elfish bread from one of his pockets and offered it to the three tiny allies, which they gladly took, for all three were hungry.

Giliath sat down, along with his comrades. Again the fabric of the capes seemed to blend with the darkness; making them almost invisible. With a patience he didn't feel, he allowed the three to eat, and warmed them in his hands. Then he had an idea. He knew that it was a grievous insult to offer sprites clothes (this will offend them to the point that they vanish, to never be seen again), but these two needed it for cover and warmth. Tink was well-dressed in her leggings, long coat-dress and shoes, but Aurora and Kailen were nearly bare, and the weather outside was frigid. But he knew that he had to bring it up very delicately.

"Had you any trouble during your trip from the ship to here?" he murmured, and Kailen and Aurora nodded; explaining shortly the situation outside in Neverland. Giliath pretended to think for awhile, until he said, "You'll need something to help you remain invisible during your flight back. We cannot waste more time than we already have – of a certainty not your fault, by the way. Hmm ..." His glance fell on the cape of his comrade beside him, and his face brightened. "That's it!" The sprite and the rose-fairy looked at him inquiringly. "The fabric of our capes fools other natural eyes almost completely. And it can cover your light." The little ones looked at each other, and then eagerly nodded at Giliath.

He smiled and addressed Lorilhi in his melodious language. The other Elf lifted both brows, smiled and nodded. He looked at the two appraisingly, pulled out his dagger and cut off two small squares from the lower edge of his cape. Then he pierced them in the middle and put two other slits in one of them. Afterward he cut off two thin leather strips from his doublet and offered these to the fairy and the pixie, who watched the process. Finally a grin spread over Kailen's face and with a hushed "Thank you!" he took the tiny poncho, pushed his head through the hole and bound it around his tiny waist. Heavenly warmth enfolded him nearly to his ankles, and even his bare feet didn't bother him now. Yes, it was a type of clothing but – as he rationalized – he needed it to fool their enemies! The Elf said so!

Hesitantly Aurora took the garment as well, making a face as she examined it. Tink helped her to pull it over her head and slide her wings through the small openings on the back. After that, she fastened the poncho with the second strip around her friend's waist and the rose-fairy sighed with relief as she felt the soft material on her bare arms and shoulders, also protecting her legs. She glanced up to Lorilhi; jingling her thanks.

The warrior nodded kindly to her. "_Ta nae amin saesa_ – it was my privilege," he whispered back.

Giliath bent over the three tiny allies; his silky hair like a waterfall. "Are you two ready to return to the ship? You must tell the pirates that everything is as it was planned. They can fire their weapons as soon as they're ready, we are prepared on this side."

Aurora saluted and nodded. Then she looked at Kailen, who sighed. "Yes, attend you I will!" he cheeped, pointedly ignoring Tinker Bell's perplexed expression, as the golden fairy couldn't believe her eyes or ears. Not only did this pixie go willingly into danger to help one of her kind, but the Lady Aurora seemed to be pleased with his company. What, by the glimmer of the stars, was happening here?

Giliath smiled his ageless smile and watched the two tiny friends, who stood shoulder to shoulder. "_Quel marth, e Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta_ – good luck, and may your ways be green and golden."

Kailen bowed and Aurora curtsied, then she embraced Tink, whispered something to her in her own language, took Kailen's hand and together they crept to the opening again, hidden far better than their journey from it – ready to once again face the dangers between there and the ship.

And as they passed the preoccupied guards, they realized that the fabric did indeed hide them. One of the goblins growled something and turned away from his comrades toward their direction (he had lost the last round.) They froze, but he didn't even glimpse the tiny pair. Exchanging a triumphant glance, they dashed out of the cave and soared out into the cold night again; knowing well that the worst was yet to come.

And while the two went on their way back toward Pirate's Cove and the _Jolly Roger_, Giliath and the others returned to a safe distance from the opening, ready to attack as soon as the work of the cannons was over. Tinker Bell flew back to the rest of the allies with the message that the battle was ready to commence.

And all of Neverland was holding its breath …

TBC…

Dear readers,

thanks again for the reviews. I am happy that you like Esteban (and there will be more of him, be sure of it). Well, I thought it is about time that Kailen and Aurora are getting a little chance - and that the battle is now coming.

Next chapter our hereos have to show what they are capable of. Be certain that there will come a lot of action, not expected twisted and (without spoiling anything) Wendy will have a big challenge (that will bring our dear captain a headache and a shock).

Please tell me how you liked this chapter - I am eager to know it.

Love you all

Lywhn


	28. Attack!

**Chapter 27 – Attack! **

Silence hung across Neverland, only broken by a screech or croak from the harpies here and there, who flew high in the frigid air under the thick dark clouds. No animal could be seen, no gnome peeked out of his home under the roots, no skeagshee dared to leave its shelter from a knothole, no fairy shook her golden dust over the land. In the marshes, the Will-o'-The-Wisps and Sheeries dug deep in the snow-covered mangroves; glancing fearfully into the misty cold, and the pixies in the woods clung to each other, forgetting their mischief. It was as if the whole island had paused in anticipation. Only the Green Masters slept, recognizing nothing of it, even if their slumber was disturbed by the sensation of danger in their dreams.

Deep under the Mount of No Return, Goblins, trolls, Duergars (the evil dwarf-like creatures) and Impets (part animal, part human) were too busy to be aware of this "calm before the storm." They patrolled the tunnels, impelled by their slave drivers, growled at each other for just taking up space, or sat around in small groups, eager to face a real fight. Strife was their nature, and they too were uneasy to find themselves confined to narrow passages or caves together with other creatures they were natural enemies with.

The allies, too, were itching to fight, ready for battle. After Tink found Thalion, then finally Peter, Hook, and the entire group of allies came together, shared reports and assignments, and then took off to their assigned places. Seven Elves and fifteen pirates were sent to the common-room, to open fire on the guards as soon as the fireworks began. Hook, a handful of Elves and thirty of his men would await the "living nightmares" – as he called the Unseelies – in the second main passage, while Thalion and the rest would face the enemy in the other tunnel.

The boys were split up, too. Slightly and John went with Peter, who wanted to stay with Hook, while Nibs and Curly accompanied Thalion. The Elfish commander didn't like that the Pan (who MUST survive the fight) insisted on going with the pirate-captain, but he decided that the more important issue was that the two former opponents now desired to face the enemy side by side. After all, it was their home that was threatened.

And so, the tension in the foul air grew as grey Elfin capes melted into the surroundings, while the warriors crouched behind stones or hidden in shadows, waiting for the enemy to run into their trap. The pirates had drawn weapons, razor sharp; their faces showing the grim joy they felt.

The boys appeared much the same, faces severe. Peter and Hook stood together, hidden in a niche, impatiently waiting for the battle to begin. Boy and man exchanged a quick glance, and Peter had to grin. Here they were: age long foes; often at each other's throat, now standing side by side, trusting the other with his own life, as if lifelong friends. And one look into the blue eyes of the buccaneer told him that he was thinking the same thoughts; especially as Hook lifted one brow and compressed his lips.

Peter inhaled through his nose, feeling impatient, knew that Tinker Bell shifted on his right shoulder, and fingered for the little pouch he had moved to his belt, where it was safer than around his neck. He could feel the pearl through the leaf and for a moment he thought that warmth radiated from it – a warmth that reached his soul. Smiling, he tucked the memory away while he concentrated on the battle before him, and waited for hell to break loose. One thought escaped him and shot through the cave walls toward the icebound galleon: _'I'll come back, Wendy! I promise!'_

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Albino, Billy Jukes, Skylight and George sat on the icy deck, barely warmed by the fire in the old grate. The mist had vanished – or, more appropriately, it withdrew into the low dark clouds – but still it was miserably cold and eerily silent. The whole island seemed to be solid ice, and it was grating on the pirates' nerves. Suddenly Albino thought he saw a movement in the air, only a few yards away. Remembering the stories about storm- and mist-ghosts he jumped up, startling his comrades. "What t'e devil…?" Skylight started, seeing nothing, but his pale shipmate made an impatient gesture to shut up.

"Somet'in's t'ere!" he whispered – and felt a sharp pinch on his nose. "OUCH!"

A quiet giggle came to them, and then George jumped up with a loud curse, rubbing his cheek. "Show yerself!" Billy Jules called and saw the two Elves came approach; alarmed by the fuss the men were making. Another giggle rose up, and Jukes' hat was lifted from his head and thrown to the ground. A series of curses came out of the gunman's mouth, which ended with the words: "Ye bloody bilgerat, I'll tear ye in two!"

There was another snigger, then, right before his eyes, a pale green and golden-pink glow emerged, and suddenly Kailen and Aurora appeared, peeling off the little makeshift ponchos, which had made them invisible to eyes untrained in magical things. Emorlhi chuckled when he recognized the material – and that the pixie had used it to play one of his pranks. "Really, little friend, think you not that we have more important things to do in the moment?" he scolded Kailen softly.

Kailen started to laugh aloud and glanced whimsically at the angry pirates. "Couldn't resist!" he peeped, and exchanged a look with the rose-fairy, who turned up her nose. But this time she wasn't irritated with him, but seemed to share his fun, a smile gracing her lips.

"Bloody pest!" Jukes growled and picked his hat up. "Are ye so green 'cuz yer seasick or do ye suffer a hangover?"

Kailen stuck his tongue out at Billy, and met the other Elf's eyes. Nihal cocked his head, remembering where they'd just been. "You have seen our comrades, considering the garments made of our material, Kailen." The pixie nodded, and instantly had the full attention of the four pirates. Quickly Kailen told them of their meeting, while Aurora waited beside him – delighted that she and her companion had made it back to the ship. She felt much safer here, even if it wasn't really the case.

The allies in the tunnels were ready and waiting. Albino and Jukes looked at each other, and then the two Elves. "Time's a-wastin', lads!" the tattooed buccaneer grinned, while the promise of a coming battle pulsed through his veins. Finally they could fight back! They all grinned at each other. "ALL HANDS ON DECK!" Billy shouted, and the ship that seemed to sleep for so long quickly became a beehive of activity.

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Wendy glanced down at the drawing she was working on. It showed Peter in his typical posture: hands propped on his hips, head tilted, a broad grin on his face, hair tousled. Another picture lay alongside this one, showing Hook looking over his shoulder, his eyes piercing, a challenging smile on his lips, his curls around his shoulders.

Wendy's talent for drawing had improved in the last months. It had been the only outlet for her fantasies, besides in her dreams. She didn't dare write anything in her diary. Of course she knew that her mother would never read it without her permission, but she didn't trust her aunt not to. And she didn't want to be lectured for hours if her aunt learned that her niece still dreamed about a 'savage boy' with a stunning smile, wishing he would take her back to an island that could be as dangerous as it was beautiful. And she hadn't dared to write anything about Hook, either. Yes, she had thought him dead, and knowing that, you would think she'd forget about him. But this hadn't been the case. She had suffered nightmares about him; at first because of what she had been through on board, and later because of her part in his death.

She had forbidden herself to think of him in the manner she had before she met him, but it was a lost cause. Her fascination, coupled with the guilt, had haunted her. And she hadn't had the courage to face those bewildering feelings in her own journal. But in her drawings she could process her secret thoughts and desires, and so the quality of the pictures had improved almost to photographic perfection.

She was surprised now as she looked at the two drawings. They were the best she'd ever done, and the two of them – one the boy she loved, one the man who woke things in her that made her uneasy – seemed to live, ready to leave the paper and join her in this ostentatious cabin. Oh, how she wished for that to be so! Then she would know they were safe! She didn't dare to say it aloud, but she was terribly afraid for them both, as well as for her brothers and the Elves. She paused now, holding both portraits, and prayed the most sincere prayer she had ever sent Heavenward that they would live through what was to come.

Michael emerged at her left elbow, peeked at the drawings. "They're good!" he smiled. "It really looks like them."

The Twins also came around, clearly curious. One of them shook his head. "You have nerves of steel!" he sighed and the girl smiled down on him.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, here you sit at Hook's desk, drawing – and a war can start at any moment."

His brother nodded. "Yes! Aren't you worried?"

Wendy sighed. "I am more concerned than ever before," she admitted quietly. "But I have to do _something _to distract myself. So …" She made a helpless gesture toward the pictures.

Another movement to her left, and Bumblyn climbed up on the desk, looking over the pictures. His eyes were still glassy and he sighed something in his language, while he rubbed his head. "Still the nasty headache?" Wendy asked softly. Even if was his own fault, she pitied the Hobgoblin. She knew a hangover was unpleasant. Her little friend looked up to her with a pained expression and nodded. Cooing softly, Wendy gently stroked his cheek, put his hat away, and started to massage his tiny head.

The Hobgoblin looked at her for a moment, surprise on his little face, before he closed his eyes and started to purr like a cat. His ears hung down, relaxed, and the expression of his face was that of pure bliss. The three boys grinned at each other, before Michael commented: "You really have a big heart, sister!"

Wendy smiled. "I will remind you of those words when you have misbehaved again."

Michael grinned sheepishly, but before he could reply, they heard a loud shout from outside: "All hands on deck!" and in a moment, there was a knock on the door and Nihal came in. "Make haste, lady, Aurora and Kailen are back!"

Wendy leaped up and looked with quickened heart at the Elf. "Have they told anything about the others? Are they well? Did they reach --"

Nihal lifted one hand and stopped her questions with a soft smile. "Take thy ease, Wendy. They saw not Peter nor your brother, nor the others so dear to you. ut they met Giliath, and he reported that everyone is well."

The girl sighed with relief; then she frowned. "If Aurora and Kailen are back, then that means –"

"-- that the battle begins," Nihal affirmed and went to the children, seeing their eyes growing with apprehension. Gently he laid one hand on Wendy's shoulder and stroked Michael's fiery curls, the same with the Twins. "Remain here. It appears that this room is more secure. The bulkheads are strong here, the door is thick and the cabin is well away from the cannons."

Wendy swallowed. "Do you think that the harpies will attack?"

She saw the seriousness in his dark blue eyes as he nodded. "Yes, I am certain they will. But we are prepared for them. I have given instructions to the crew regarding how to fight this time. Harpies may be quick, and they are daughters of the storm, but they have weak areas as well, as you know. And if the Alrinachs dare an attack, the men know how to react." He gave her a soft smile. "Don't look so uncertain, my lady. We will make it. Even the darkest moments carry a light which will make itself known, in your newborn heart. As long as you can see and feel this, no darkness can overpower you."

Wendy tried to smile back. "You Elves are full of wisdom and poetry. I adore this mixture – even if I don't know how you can be so calm in this situation."

Nihal chuckled and shoved a braid back over his shoulder. "It is from experience, Wendy. And mine are extensive. After all, I am almost three thousand years old."

"WHAT?" This from all four children, and Nihal grinned.

"Aye. As Giliath said to Captain Hook: A long life has its advantages."

Wendy smiled to herself. "I can imagine his expression."

Nihal nodded, eyes crinkling at the edges. "It looked much the same as yours." The girl blushed and the boys laughed together, as from outside voices grew louder. "It begins," the warrior said and returned to the door. "Stay here and lock the portholes! Whatever may come about, do not open this door! Remain quiet. Possibly they will not realize that here are other humans, too."

With that he turned to leave the cabin, but Wendy held him one last time back. "Nihal? All blessings!"

The Elf smiled shortly. "_Diola lle, Arwenamin_ – thank you, Milady!"

The heavy door closed behind him, while the children heard the squeaking noises of the cannon-hatches opening and the rumbling of the wheels of the enormous "Long Tom" as it was rolled into place. Part of the crew ran down the companionway to the second cannon-deck and made ready the heavy guns there as well, having been loaded hours before. Commands were shouted, answered by many an "Aye" and "Ready."

The three little boys pressed closer to Wendy, who wrapped her arms around them. She felt the unfamiliar twist in her stomach as fear turned there. She exchanged a look with a uneasy Hobgoblin, who had left the captain's desk and sat now on the desk-chair; his tail was wrapped around him and his ears laid close on his head. He wore a grim expression, but the girl could look straight through him: he was afraid as she was. "Aim well!" she heard Billy Jukes' shout. "Listen to t'e li'll lady! She shows ye t'e target!"

"Aurora?" Michael asked, and Wendy nodded.

"I think so. After all, she knows exactly where the opening is."

"Ready to fire!"

The boys closed the eyes and buried their faces at the girl's chest, who held her breath.

"FIRE!"

Thunder exploded into the icy silence, as the cannons spent their deadly loads in sequence. The ship trembled under the power of the weapons and groaned under the chains of the ice as it was rattled in its white prison. And then a boom roared like a bomb and the Jolly Roger seemed to moan under the brute force her mightiest weapon sent its cannonball through the air. Long Tom had been fired, and Wendy thought she could hear the impact exploding over the frozen sea, while the pirates started to cheer.

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Peter stood beside Hook and waited. He was wound tighter than he'd ever been before, and as he looked up at the man, he saw the same expression on Hook's face. "I hate waiting!" the buccaneer whispered, and the boy nodded.

"Aye. I feel the same!"

Then there was a series of muffled "_whumps_" from far away, and a moment later, explosions echoed through the tunnels. Bits of the tunnel ceiling broke loose, and a strange vibration crept through the ground where they stood. Startled yelps were heard, and then a louder explosion sent its thundering noise into the world under the volcano, and awoke cries, shouts and curses from its present inhabitants, who seem to emerge from _everywhere_. Hook smiled; proud of his ship and his men. He knew he could trust them with such a job.

Peter grimaced, recognizing the pirate's expression. _'Yes, the buccaneers are quite good with those guns. Well, at last the codfish is good for something!'_

The confusion of heavy footsteps drew nearer, commands were given in a strange rough language; anger and confusion in their voices. Peter gripped the handle of his dagger tighter. "Good luck, Hook!" he murmured; once more observing good form.

The pirate-captain lifted a brow; knowing exactly why the boy had said it. "The same to you, Pan! And – careful!" He saw the surprised look of the boy and grinned, "I need your ass in one piece to free my ship!"

Peter laughed. And then they saw the first enemies approaching: Goblins, swinging their swords or lances; Impets, no higher than a four-year-old, but you couldn't make out were the human part ended and where the beast began, but considering their claws and fangs it didn't really matter; Duergars, dark-clad dwarfs with darker faces, shaded eyes and deadly sharp picks in their hands; and several other creatures neither Peter nor Hook didn't recognize. Behind them four large trolls tramped heavily through the tunnel, growling menacingly. The allies waited until the first enemies had passed them by, then suddenly Peter and Hook both jumped out of their hideaways, shouting the same command: "NOW!"

And the enemy was engaged …

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Giliath had pressed himself against the rock; waiting impatiently for it to begin. Since the rose fairy had left them to warn the others, time had stretched. The Elf sighed silently. He hoped against hope that the two tiny friends (or lovers, which remained to be seen) reached the ship unharmed.

As is always the case, when you're actually doing something, you don't stop to consider the 'what ifs' and 'could be's,' but in an enforced waiting period, the oddest thoughts wander through your mind. And even if Elves maintained control, Giliath was subject to this. And so it was no wonder that he thought of the chance they could be betrayed, if Aurora and Kailen were caught during her way back to the _Jolly Roger_. Finally he scolded himself. The two wore their new camouflaged cloaks, were quite small and quick, full of courage and cleverness – especially the pixie. For a moment he smiled. The news that the rose-fairy was befriended and aided by a pixie would make a bigger noise in Neverland than one of those cannons! Well, sometimes the darkest times brought the brightest ones; remarkable friendships were made and enemies became allies.

Suddenly low booms came to him, and then a hissing. Giliath pressed himself backward, and explosions shook the entrance. Cries echoed toward them. Another long volley hit the same area and then an impact shook the part of the mountain where he stood. Dust rolled through the tunnel; screams of death and injury followed. Then silence returned, only interrupted from moans and falling stones, loosened in the tunnels.

Giliath waited another long moment, to see if the guns were finished or if there would be a second salvo, but when no further explosions came, he left his cover. He exchanged a quick glance with his comrades and drew his sword. "_Gurth gothrim Tel'Quessir_ – death to the foes of the Elves!" he shouted, rushed the entrance in attack.

As far as he could see in the thick dust, the cannons had done a great job. The two catapults were now heaps of broken wood, one troll was dead (a large disgusting stone-figure) and several Goblins had been finished off as well. The survivors whirled around in surprise, shocked by seven Elves leaping at them like an attack by tigers – precise, quick, deadly. The Goblins, who were still able to fight, drew their swords and the troll lifted his cudgel, but the Elfish warriors were too quick for them. Giliath's long sword whirled among his enemies as if it had a life of its own, and his comrades were just as quick.

The Elves knew Goblins enough not to underestimate them. Yes, the creatures had been surprised by the attack from no-where, but in a blink of an eye, they fought well enough to injure one of the Elves. But, in truth, they had no chance. With the keen skill and determination that made an Elf so dangerous, Giliath and his comrades eliminated every one, and two well-placed arrows killed the troll. In minutes, Giliath and the others had finished this part of the battle, and hastened back into the mountain; ready to help their comrades with the main force of the enemy.

---------------------------------

Thalion wrapped himself around the two boys; shielding them with his own body as the cannons created their havoc. He must have been crazy to allow children into battle! Yes, yes, their home, they were brave, well trained and all that, but they were children! and a child's place was not in a war!

Around him the fight raged, and releasing the boys, his bright sword flashed like heaven's own lightning among their enemies, but the foes were many – far more than they had thought. He raised his voice and shouted new commands. Instantly his warriors formed a new front and he saw the two boys aligning themselves into it. The pirates with them saw the new formation and built their own to stalk the enemies. Grim satisfaction was evident on their faces now that they could finally fight the way they knew best.

Thalion's quick change of strategy proved effective. Trapped between two lines of fearless attackers, the dark creatures found themselves surrounded, and fought without hesitation. Deploying everything they had – not only weapons, but fangs and claws, too – they met their attackers with fury. But the Elves and pirates were ready. Foremost in their minds (after survival) was the knowledge that they had to defeat this enemy, or lose everything, that there would be nothing left – in this world or the other – to live for.

Suddenly Thalion heard behind him a great booming death cry and whirled about, ready to strike – and faced Nibs. t the boy's feet lay a extraordinarily large Goblin who had charged the Elf with his lance. The _Nikerym_ – captain – stared at the fallen enemy and realized that he must owe the boy his life. Had he thought only moments ago that children shouldn't be in a war? Well, probably most children, but certainly not these boys, who grinned at him, then turned and defeated two black dwarves, side by side. Thalion sent up a word of thanks for the protection. He would thank the boys later. Shouting new commands he reformed his men, and began a new offensive.

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On board the _Jolly Roger_ the mood had risen to cheering level. Billy Jukes, who had ciphered Long Tom's trajectory by himself, watched the explosion light up the intended target, observing with the spyglass he had taken earlier that morning from the commander's cabin. The 'Mount of No Return' was visible, despite the lack of true daylight (all this day could produce), towering high above (and within view of the ship) between the cliffs. But without the fairy's direction, the buccaneer would never have found the opening they needed to fire upon. Even through the spyglass, it was no more than a tiny black spot in the landscape. But Billy Jukes was an excellent gunman, and knew Long Tom better than his own watch pocket. And he knew also that his captain trusted him with this weapon completely – and he would not disappoint Hook. Not only it could turn out to dangerous to life and limb, but he was proud of his commander's faith in his abilities.

Aurora and Kailen, who had slapped their hands over their ears as the cannons fired, celebrated and embraced each other momentarily, before the rose-fairy released the pixie; clearly embarrassed. Sebastian, one of the other two of Long Tom's gun crew, whacked him on the shoulder. "Well shot, Bill!" he shouted joyfully and grinned.

"Aye! T'e cap'n will be most pleased!" Frank, the other shipmate and gunner added.

Jukes seemed to grow a few inches, and met the benevolent glance of the two Elves. "You have good eyes and a sure hand, Mr. Jukes," Nihal said. "My compliments."

From the main-deck and the cannon-decks below cheers erupted as well, and Bill felt his cheeks heating up. Alas, he, a pirate, was blushing! He was glad for the darkness, for his mates would surely never let him forget about it!

Suddenly loud screeches sounded from above, and all heads jerked up. Huge wings descended from the twilight and knife-sharp talons came at them. "HARPIES!" Emorlhi and Jukes shouted like one, leaping into action. Drawing their swords, they formed a circle with the two other pirates and Nihal, while Kailen pulled Aurora roughly behind him toward the companionway for shelter. In a fight with harpies, the tiny folk wouldn't stand a chance.

The other pirates, gunners from the main-deck, did the same as Jukes and the others, remembering the instructions from the Elves about harpies. After all, they were outnumbered, even with two Elves as backup. The other gunners from the lower decks heard the warning and raced up the companionway, ready to help. Just before reaching the main-deck, a small figure emerged off to the side – a figure they all remembered from several days ago, one who'd surprised them all with is words from the yardarm. They halted abruptly and glanced at the little miniature of a Spanish pirate. "Onward and upward, lads, and kick their feathered arses, ye dogs!" Esteban commanded. "And don't make me leave m' favorite ship!"

With that he disappeared, and, momentarily astonished, the buccaneers simply stared at the spot he'd just disappeared from. Then Lambert cried, "What're we waitin' fer!" and with loud war-cries, they ran on deck.

The harpies seemed to be everywhere, but the Elves' arrows found many of them in the air, and many fell because of the determination of the pirates. This crew had faced so many dangers by this time that the harpies weren't even a challenge – not really – and, after all, some of the men had fought them before. Their razor-sharp weapons whirled among these attackers, while they ignored the empty threats and curses of the winged beasts. Dozens of the ugly witches lay dead or wounded on the deck. Several of the buccaneers had taken injury. The cold air was filled with the noise and shouts of battle.

Inside the captain's quarters, Wendy crouched down between the tall carved bookshelves and the desk, in the shadows, her back pressed to the bulkhead, holding the three boys and the trembling Hobgoblin close to her. After she heard the cheers outside, she had dared to believe that everything would be all right and that the harpies wouldn't come. But her hopes were dashed moments later. The boys were frightened, and Wendy had to admit that she was, too. The memories of her last encounter with those awful creatures were all too clear, and – somehow, unbelievably – the cuts on her arm and hip had started to sting, reminding her of the outcome of that battle.

'_Yes, they are deadly, but Red-Handed Jill is deadlier!' _something whispered way down deep.

"What if the harpies defeat the pirates?" Michael whispered.

"They won't win," Wendy answered with conviction. "They are _Hook's_ pirates, and they are the most able fighters on the Seven Seas. Don't you remember the stories I told you about them?" Her little brother nodded, and the Twins stared up at her. "Well, then you know they'll defeat those oversized crows!"

Bumblyn lifted his little face to her as well; his eyes wide as saucers. "Your confidence would call me to a fine merriment, were not the brambles of fright and a fickle foreboding trippin' me up," he chirped, his little voice unsteady. Wendy took a deep breath, and outside, something loud rumbled and shouts were heard. She pulled the boys closer to her and closed her eyes, as she started to pray.

On deck, the buccaneers fought, holding back nothing. Courage can accomplish many things, even when you find yourself outnumbered. And after a span of minutes, the harpies retreated, regrouping high above the ship, screaming their frustration to the darkened skies. Over half of them had fallen prey to the pirates' merciless blades, as well as the Elf arrows and swords.

Albino held his bloody left arm, looking around and panting. "Not bad," he said and grinned.

Cecco and Skylight nodded. "Aye! T'ey've seen 'nuff!" the giant black buccaneer smirked.

"We'll see!" Billy Jukes said between heaving breaths. He remembered the long battle with the vicious creatures only a few nights before.

"I do not believe that it is over," Emorlhi said, who approached them. His hair was tousled, his cape torn in two places and he bled from a cut on his head.

"They will return," Nihal affirmed; his own appearance similar.

"Listen!" Emorlhi said sharply, and all voices died as he turned his face to the sea and the island. He exchanged a quick glance with Nihal, whose eyes widened. "Alrinachs!" he whispered and whirled around to the pirates. "Quickly! Fill your ears with cotton! Alrinachs are coming!" he ordered hastily, grabbing the pieces of cotton-wool they'd passed out earlier, and stuffing them in his ears.

The pirates hurried to do the same, as the white creatures moved in from the darkness and surrounded them – gliding swiftly on the breath of the enemy. Gentle laughing feminine voices filled the air with soothing melodies, slender hands stretched toward the pirates and moved to fondle their faces and hair, long white arms embracing them softly. The two Elves quickly assessed the scene around them before moving as one to help the others. But they were accosted by the tempting, beautiful creatures before they could reach the pirates. The material in their ears protected them against the direct seductive aural assault, but the some frequencies reached them in spite of the makeshift earplugs. Steeling themselves against the Alrinachs' influence, they tried to dodge the misty creatures and to reach the men in time to save them.

Inside the Captain's quarters, the children held their breaths, hearing the dangerous melodious voices of the Alrinachs. Luckily, most of the sound was blocked by the thick bulkheads, so faint they were not influenced by the voices.

"What now?" the first twin asked, terrified.

"They'll kill the pirates!" the second added shakily.

"Even Nihal and Emorlhi can't help them now!" Michael added, now even paler.

"They'll get us all!" Bumblyn whimpered, and his tail wrapped tightly around Wendy's waist.

From outside the singing grew, and – collecting all her courage – the girl rose, pushing her charges aside. She then tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear on the wood. She thought she could hear the strong singing of the two Elves, who were attempting to drown out the voices of the Alrinachs, but they fought a fight they couldn't win. Against so many of the enemy, they were nearly ineffective.

Wendy squeezed her eyes shut, thinking quickly. If there had been more Elves, they might stand a chance against the deadly spells woven by the enemy, but soon the pirates would be too weak to stand on their own two feet, and then the harpies would find easy prey. The boys – if the pirates failed, the two Elves overpowered, the terrible creatures would find them here as well. What would happen then was … not worth thinking about. And they weren't even armed!

Armed … Not armed?

Her sharp eyes darted around the big cabin, saw the fencing swords on the wall, the case of daggers, and … the harpsichord …

The harpsichord!

She remembered how sweetly it's melody reached over the deck the night Hook had brought her to the _Jolly Roger_ the first time, how the song had pierced the night, enticing her to the unlatched door of his cabin, and how she enjoyed listening to him play. (He had played a song he had composed himself – as Smee had proudly told her – and even if the lyrics hadn't been very civilized – something about 'walking the plank' – the melody had lured her.) And human melodies were poison for the Alrinachs! And the harpsichord could be heard all over the ship, if only the door were open!

But …

No more time! That moment, Wendy made her decision. She knew this was their chance to turn the tables. She dashed to the secret door, hidden behind the bookshelf, opened it and pointed into the darkness. "Take a candle with you and hide down in Hook's private store!" she ordered the boys.

They all started asking questions at the same time, but Wendy cut them off with, "Not now!" she answered sharply. "No time to waste, or we all die tonight! In you go, and don't you dare return before I give you the signal!" The boys looked at each other; still hesitating. "NOW!" the girl hissed, and her brother and the Twins jumped, obeying. Taking a candle with them they ran through door. "And touch nothing down there! Those treasures belong to Captain Hook!" she added firmly.

Then she turned toward the Hobgoblin; sounding quite a lot like her mother. "Go with them – and protect them should something happen!"

Bumblyn hesitated. "But I must remain --"

"You can help me best by looking after them! Now GO! Every second we waste costs another life!" Her tone allowed no argument. The little Hobgoblin turned and darted after the three boys into the darkness, lit only by the candle Michael was carrying.

Wendy pushed the shelf back into place behind them, collecting herself, eyeing the beautiful instrument, then the door. "You've lost your mind, Wendy!" she whispered, and ran to the door before she could change her mind. She quickly pulled it open – instantly the Alrinach's songs sounded louder and she nearly collapsed under their effect. Shaking herself firmly, she ran to the harpsichord and sat down on the bench.

The keyboard was no different than the one on the piano in the front parlor at home, and she easily found middle C, the starting place on any keyboard. Her hands touched the keys, and in her memory, she felt the sweet music of Schubert's 'Serenade' she had memorized. Her fingers moved over the keys – and the beautiful music circled into the icy twilight. Wendy didn't try to think anymore, she simply played the music with her heart. As the Serenade finished, she began a waltz of Johann Strauss, loved by London society since its debut at the marriage of Queen Victoria with Prince Albert of Hanover. From far away she thought she could hear painful screams, mingled with angry masculine shouts and curses, but she didn't let them distract her. She was caught up in the world that music was to her, and it gave her strength and restored her courage.

It was working! The singing of the Alrinachs had died away! They had fled!

Suddenly an obnoxious screech interrupted the music – a screech that she knew. Startled she looked up, found herself again in Hook's cabin – and a harpy swaying on the threshold. The girl frowned as a new energy swept through her, reminding her that she'd faced these before, preparing her for action. Her heart thudded in her ears as the harpy tottered a careful step into the cabin; looking warily around. From outside she could still hear the noise of battle; the men fighting against the returning harpies, who had been ordered there by the dark one to assist the Alrinachs. But they had fled after her music had almost driven them insane. This one now approaching had come to see where the music came from.

Wendy frowned and rose slowly; her own eyes darting about the cabin for a weapon. The only way out was through the secret door, which she would never use – it would reveal where the boys were!

The harpy made another step forward, glaring at her with glistening, hateful eyes. "Not nice, little girl – chasing our nieces away with that noissssse!" She barely understood its words, while it slavered. Wendy was stiff with horror, hearing it address her, then she slowly backed away, putting the harpsichord between her and the intruder.

She gasped as a second harpy appeared in the door, even uglier than the first, showing her sharp teeth. "Now what have we here?" she hissed, and her sister responded.

"It'ssss her fault that our friendssss had to flee!" the first one cackled, and Wendy faced two very grim horrors. She opened her mouth to reply with the first thing that came to mind, and watched a third harpy trail along after the first two. Her heart in her throat, she glanced around and her look fell on the two training-swords that hung crossed on the wall. Their blades shimmered in the dim light and a desperate idea formed in her mind.

The first harpy pounced into the middle of the cabin; her wings extended to keep her balance, difficult because their long talons made walking unstable. One wing grazed the wooden globe, which rolled off its rack and landed with a 'thump' on the floor, rolling into a corner. The three creatures watched it roll, as well as Wendy, who snapped at them, "Be careful! The Captain will be angry if you disturb his quarters!"

An eerie giggling was her answer, mingled with mocking comments. "The man will not scold you!" one of them cackled. "You'll be much too dead to worry about it!" the other one croaked, "and dinner!" her other sister laughed.

Wendy swallowed, and moved slowly – inching toward the swords. Another harpy spread her wings and grazed the cabinet, Hook's stock of chemicals he used to mix medicine (and poison, as she knew). The small cabinet swayed a little bit – and the girl thought her heart would stand still, Hook's orders not to touch his belongings ringing in her ears. "Stop that!" she cried, and the ragged head with the white witch-face jerked toward her.

This harpy giggled, flapped her powerful wings – and the cabinet toppled. The vials and flagons tumbled around, several remaining intact, others broken and their contents mingling with each other. "Sssso sssorry!" the feathered beast snickered, and her sisters paused to howl with laughter.

A new anger awoke in Wendy. Egad, Hook would blow a cork! "Be grateful if he doesn't use your dirty feathers for a new mattress!" she said, incensed, and earned more laughter.

"Sistersssssss, how are your appetitessssss?" the first one called, closing the distance to the girl.

Wendy reacted, her head clear now and her instincts on alert. With one quick movement, she was at the wall, withdrew one of the swords, and held the ornate golden hilt in both hands as she raised the blade toward the uninvited guests. "Hungry? Then try this!" she shouted – and ducked under the first harpy as it took the air (as high as possible in the cabin) driving her blade upward toward its belly.

She only grazed the winged monster, but she drew blood, and the creature let out a terrible squeal. Immediately, the two other harpies were in the air over her, clawing at her, but Wendy used the sword with a competence born of need. Instinctively, she had the blade dancing between the two attackers, striking here a wing, there a talon, stripping feathers.

They were infuriated – they couldn't imagine that this pathetic excuse for a female could show so much resistance! They retreated and one turned and attacked again, but the girl was still on guard and drove her long blade home, right through the giblets into its black heart. The harpy let out a dying gurgle and tumbled to the ground; her blood beginning to soak into the Oriental carpet. But that only provoked the two feathered atrocities to another attack. They spread their wings and tottered toward her; one hopping into the air.

Sounds of more breakage told her that something else had been knocked askew, but the girl had no time to mourn the damage. Holding the large heavy sword in her right hand, she drew Giliath's dagger, using the sword to fend off the harpy above her, and the dagger to keep the other on guard.

The one that now crouched in front of her was the harpy she already wounded in the belly, which slowed it. As its head darted at her again and again, it pecked at her with its sharp teeth, the girl dodging. Suddenly Wendy lunged under the ugly jaws with the dagger, slicing its wattled throat, nearly taking off its outrageous head, and with a nasty gabbling sound, the harpy collapsed near its dead sister.

The last harpy screamed in hatred and leaped, stretched her talons toward the girl, and Wendy leaped aside as they gashed the carpet. The winged beast collided with the door to the other room, and its claws left deep gouges in the wood. It fell, jumped up, whirled about and screamed bizarre, unlikely curses at Wendy. Then, with a mighty flap of her wings, the harpy was back near the ceiling, and lunged at the girl again. The charts, documents, pens and inkpots were swept from the desk by the wings. Wendy dodged away, again raising her blades. The monster pushed against the desk toward Wendy, sending it hard against the wall; breaking off a leg. The drawers were dislodged, and papers flew everywhere. But Wendy would not be distracted, concentrating completely on this enemy who seemed as determined as herself.

Taking a fighting-stance, and holding both blades as Hook instructed, she kept her eyes on the last harpy, waiting again for its attack, finally driving the long blade of the sword into the beast's chest while she used the dagger to slash its throat. She paid no attention to the blood that splattered about her, nor the mortal danger she was in. She simply fought with an instinct she'd learned months before. She felt a white energy pulsing through her – an energy that made her quicker, and at the same time aware, clearheaded.

As the third harpy fell at her feet, she straightened and turned – only to face two more. One of them perched on the four-poster and the other one on the fallen chair that Bumblyn had slept on. "Are you tired of living?" the girl challenged, her eyes flinty and her voice hard. Aunt Millicent would never have recognized her now. The two beasts stared at her; their flat yellow eyes glowed like coals from the devil's hell. They exchanged a short glance with each other – and struck as one.

Wendy ducked and swung at them, but they dodged out of reach, parted, circled away and returned. She immediately made another sally, but the harpy she thrust at avoided her weapon. Wendy almost lost her balance, stumbled forward, and her blade slammed into one of the bookshelves, lodging deeply in the wood.

Using one of Hook's own oaths, she released the now useless blade, avoided the talons of the second harpy and spun to one of the fathom-tall candlesticks that stood all about the cabin. Shoving the dagger into her belt, she took the heavy metal candlestick in both hands and swung it like a cudgel, striking one of the harpies directly on its ugly head, the unlit candle rolling away into the debris from the desk. The impact nearly made her lose her grip, but she held on, and swung the heavy thing once again with all her might. The harpy, dizzy from the first blow, was too dazed to avoid it, the second blow being the fatal one, its skull now deeply dented.

Panting, Wendy spun around, facing the last harpy behind her, which was using the table as a base to launch herself at the girl. It catapulted toward her. Wendy ducked again, hearing the breaking of glass and crockery, this time using the candlestick like a lance, blocking the attack midair. The impact with the creature was too much for Wendy, and knocked her backward, stumbling over the stool of the harpsichord and falling against the instrument.

She fell hard and the winged beast lunged for her. The sharp talons of the harpy got caught in the Elfish material of her doublet, and had it been made of ordinary cotton, the claws would have torn it to shreds. But the soft, silky material was far more resistant than it looked, and the talons never reached her skin. Desperately, Wendy tried to hold the harpy's sharp fangs from her face by pressing the candlestick against the beast's throat, but the beast was strong – strong enough to threaten a powerful man like James Hook, as we already know. And a small girl, brave as she was, couldn't hold it off.

Suddenly the harpy screamed in enraged surprise and reared back, releasing the girl, twisting her neck around to look behind her in the region of her leg. A high, familiar voice shouted an endless curse that ended with the words: "You really taste worse than eight week old tomaties and eggs!"

The winged beast shrieked and spun to claw the Hobgoblin, who leaped away, wiping his mouth and spitting, and under-ran the harpy's attack. Wendy understood that the nimble little tyke had now climbed up on her back in a flash, yanked on her wild hair and jerked hard at it, making the creature half mad. Wendy used this fortuitous moment to draw her dagger, and slashed the beast's exposed throat. With a gurgling whimper, the harpy sagged, and collapsed.

The girl pushed her away, jumping to her feet. Breathing heavily, she looked around wildly, but there were no more foes. Silence had finally fallen over the ship, interrupted occasionally by men's voices outside on deck. She found Bumblyn, who had fallen off the harpy's back. He rose now from where he'd landed, and looked around for others as well. His hat was missing and his trousers showed blood from the battle, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

"Last one," he chirped; suddenly grinning. Still panting Wendy leaned against the bookshelf, yanking the sword free and dropping it onto the less-than-pristine Oriental carpet. As the excitement died down, she went weak and staggered to one of the chairs still standing, where she flopped onto the seat.

Her eyes appraised the five dead creatures, in their different death postures – and she began to tremble. Now, after the danger, the fact that she had been attacked and had fought off five of these terrible creatures sank in, and stifling something between a sob and a laugh, she wrapped her arms around her.

Bumblyn hobbled over to her and looked compassionately at her. "Be you well?" he asked, and Wendy covered her face with her hands, while a single tear rolled down between two fingers.

"Wendy?"

Looking up, she spotted Michael and the Twins standing at the threshold of the secret-door; looking about with amazement. "Come forward and close that door!" the Hobgoblin ordered, sounding quite firm, and the boys obeyed.

"Wendy, are you all right?"

"How did you do it?"

"Did we win?" The questions tumbled around her. They ran around the cabin, poking at the dead harpies. "Wendy, did YOU kill all of them?" Michael asked, eyes shining with adoration of his older sister.

The questions bubbled out of the boys. Wendy took a deep breath, rose on shaky legs and gathered them into her arms. There was no inch on her body that didn't hurt just then, and for a moment, she almost let go and allowed the sobs to pour out of her.

Then, taking another deep breath she swallowed her tears just in time, for she heard quick steps behind her, and surprised gasps. At the door stood the two Elves – disheveled and injured. Over their shoulders hung a bewildered pixie and fairy who then circled the fallen enemies. "Are you hurt?" Nihal asked, panting, leaning against the bulkhead. Behind him, the pirates filled the doorway; stopping when they saw the carnage in their captain's cabin.

Wendy shook her head and sat down in the middle of the quarters on a clean spot as her legs gave way again, and looked around. The lopsided desk (with its broken leg) and fallen chairs, sheets of parchments all over, the candlestick twisted and bent, and deep gouges were in the door of the little room. Fluid dripped from the cabinet that had toppled (its glass door smashed) and broken crockery was scattered about the dining-area where dishes had been sent by the last harpy's wings. White down hung in the air from a torn pillow. The shelf where she'd buried the sword was sagging dangerously. Blood was splattered everywhere. The carpet was gashed. The wooden globe had rolled under the table. The whole cabin looked like … well, like what it was: a battlefield.

Only the harpsichord was, miraculously, untouched. Suddenly the instrument's heavy lid fell shut with a loud "bang," as the prop had been pushed off-balance when Wendy had tumbled into it, making everyone jump.

Wendy, lowered her head into her hands and whispered: "Hook is going to kill me!"

TBC…

Hi, everyone!

I hope you liked this chapter. Well, this was only the start. In the next chapter our dear Giliath has to learn that even an Elf is not invulnerable and Peter will be in deep water. As said: the battle has just begun.

Thank you so much for the many and loooooong reviews.

Love you all

Lywhn


	29. A Nasty Trap

**Chapter 28 - A Nasty Trap**

With a sound like an earthquake, the troll hit the ground and transformed to stone, lying directly in the path of the allies and the fleeing Goblins. Several Elves sent their arrows after them, while the pirates started to cheer.

Peter's grin stretched from ear to ear, his face beaded with sweat, his white teeth and eyes glowing in his sun-browned face. He _loved_ a good fight. It sharpened him, and was great fun, as only a child could think. But fighting off dozens of Goblins, Impets and four trolls (which were finally taken down by the Elves) had cost him. Aside from that, here, in the 'Mount of No Return' it was warm. Too warm, and if not for the sharp claws and fangs he faced, Peter would have put off his winter garb. But they were protection, and he suffered from the heat. He lost his cape somewhere during the fight when an Impet had caught it in its claws, and he popped the clasp to escaped the snarling beast. His clothes were torn, and he'd had to doff the boots or lose footing. Feeling the heat, he pulled off the doublet as well. At last he stood fighting in his summer clothes, along with the rest of the allies. For the first time since Neverland's affliction had begun, he felt the sense of the freedom he knew.

"We did it!" John cried, turning around to grin at Peter. If his classmates could see him now! John Darling, bookworm and scholastic over-achiever, had fought Goblins, beasts with claws fangs that rivaled a lion's, and even faced a troll! Well! He was sure that none of the other boys who used to mock him could have faced such horrible foes and done better! _'They would have run, screaming to their mothers,' _he chuckled to himself.

Suddenly, another face came to mind: copper skin, shimmering almond eyes, and braided black hair. His heart leapt at the thought of Tiger-Lily. He knew that she would be proud of him, and suddenly, this was all that mattered, even more than the other boys, more than his mother.

Slightly pressed his hand over a cut on his forehead, grinning broadly. "Yah! Your mother was a dung beetle and your father was a sloth!" he shouted joyfully. "Make ya think twice about follerin' a wizard, ya percolated periwinks! Hey, John, look! They're running like rabbits!" Then he winced and pressed his other hand to his forehead. _That really hurt!_

John saw his movement and the blood on his friend's face. "That doesn't look good," he commented, and Slightly shook his head.

"Just guess how it feels!"

Peter was watching the fleeing creatures. He laughed again, nodded, and turned to look for a certain tall man in black. He and Hook had fought back to back, creating a deadly team that dispatched the sinister creatures by the handful, until they had been forced apart. They'd lost sight of each other, but now, as this particular battle was over, Peter remembered how they seemed to complete each other. Exchanging a quick glance with his two friends and a very tousled Tinker Bell he raised his voice. "Hook?" he said cautiously.

No answer came through the celebration of the buccaneers or the shrieks of the retreating creatures. With an uneasy feeling, Peter pushed through the allies, looking around. Where was the pirate? "Hook?" he called again, his eyes darting from one man to the next. "Hook? Are you all right?" he yelled, feeling an unexpected and unwelcome alarm growing, as a heavy hand landed on his now bare shoulder.

"Granny's garters, Pan, you sound like you're worried about me!" mocked the deep voice behind him, but the boy could hear amusement in the tone as well.

Grinning, he spun around, wildly denying to himself that this elated feeling in his heart was _not_ relief! "Hallo, Hooky! There you are! I thought without my protection the Goblins gotcha!" he teased.

Hook frowned momentarily, saw the amusement dancing in the boy's eyes (the first time for several days now -- he had somehow missed it,) and smirked. "Very interesting: I thought the same about you, you wretched urchin!"

Peter laughed openly, and looked the captain over for sign of wounds. His beard had of course grown during the last two days and was beginning to look like a full beard (he had eschewed Smee's ministrations in the dim light of the torches). He was bruised and had sustained some minor cuts, but no seriously damage. "I think we won!" the eternal boy grinned, and was surprised to see Hook shaking his head.

"Don't celebrate until you're out of the woods, Peter. There are certainly more of them, and they will return; most assuredly in greater numbers than before."

His young opponent rolled his eyes. "Who's the dismal prognosticator this time?"

"I'm not 'dismal,' I am simply realistic!" the buccaneer shot back; turning toward Smee, who managed to stay close. "Any losses?"

"Three men, Sir, and one Elf," the bosun replied; looking as if he'd been minced. He was still fighting for breath, and rubbed his tired eyes under his spectacles. He really was getting too old for this. "What shall we do with them and ones more seriously injured?"

"How many are too hurt to fight anymore?"

"Seven, Sir!"

Hook nodded and chewed his moustache, thinking. "I'd like to send them to the ship, but I think they'll be safer here. Help those seven to the weapons-room. This portion of the underground is secure now, and they can wait until we return to move them. Take the rest there as well. Are Frank and Per are among those injured?" As his bosun shook his head, the commander added: "They are competent as surgeons. They can stay with us."

"Shall I send 'em with t'e others to t'e weapons room, Sir? I don't think that our boys'll survive if t'ey ain't treated."

Hook rubbed his eyes, suddenly very aware of Peter's gaze. He knew how the boy saw the matter: he would be certain that his injured friends would get the best handling possible. And the pirate didn't want to stay behind in this case, even if it was born out of a foolish pride. "Yes, Frank and Per shall help them. Hurry now. It won't be long before they're back with reinforcements."

"Peter?" That was John. "Have a look at Slightly, would you?"

Compelled by John's urgent tone, he turned, saw the blood on his friend's face and ran to him.

Hook turned also, but was distracted by Cookson and several Elves, returning from their attack on the common-room, below the ledge. The ship's cook grinned like a picket fence. "T'ey're all gone to hell, Cap'n," he reported, and one Elf came forward; a nasty cut on his left arm.

"They stood no chance against our arrows and your weapons, Captain," he said in a deep voice.

Hook was satisfied. "That means that we have won the first round, if Thalion was successful as well."

The Elf lifted one brow. "Do you doubt this, Captain?"

The pirate gave him a sidelong glance, and saw that even an Elf's pride could be pricked. "You and your people are capable, but even you can be defeated if the enemy has superior numbers. Along with that, accidents happen," he answered, most diplomatically, tilting his head at the casualty. The warrior returned his gaze, nodded and went to the others, who knelt beside their dead comrade.

Hook ordered Cookson and a Alf Mason (who only had a minor injury) to retrieve their comrades who were worse off, and turned his attention back to the Elves. For a moment he watched their guests, how they knelt, bowed their heads, holding right hands above the fallen man, and started a soft chant, while a gentle light began to surround the little group. With an uneasy shudder, the pirate-captain turned away. Knowing that someone had magical abilities, then seeing it (again) practiced were two different pairs of shoes, and it made him very uncomfortable. He expected that the behavior of the Elves had something to do with their religion (a sort of ritual, possibly?), and he, who had no qualms about killing, was sensible enough to give an ally time and room to mourn a lost friend.

Peter treated Slightly's injury, and heard Hook approaching from behind. He glanced up and saw that the buccaneer was critically observing the Lost Boy. "How bad is it?" he asked roughly, seeing that the boy had a serious cut.

Slightly managed a grin. "Not bad, it just stings."

Peter made a sound of frustration, clearly concerned. "That's a typical Slightly understatement. I can see bone!"

His friend shrugged. "Well, it was only –"

Slightly stopped, as Hook put his iron claw under his chin and tilted his head to one side, before he pulled out a handkerchief from his waistcoat, cleaned a bit of the boy's face and examined the cut. "This has to be stitched. Go see Frank over there!" he pointed with his hook on a slender, tall man with dark hair and light blue eyes. "He'll help you." He looked at John. "Go with him. Stitching does more than just 'sting'."

John's eyes darted to Peter – who jerked his head toward Frank – sighed, took Slightly by one arm and pulled him toward the pirate; hoping that the buccaneer had gentle hands. Peter rubbed his eyes. It wasn't the first time that one of them received a scratch during their adventures, but this one was an exceptionally nasty one. "Don't worry, Pan. Frank will take good care of him. He is a miserable gunman, but an excellent swordsman and even better sawbones, the very reason why I keep him on the ship."

Peter looked askance at the pirate-captain. Had Hook just tried to reassure him? No, he wouldn't! But what he saw in the man's blue eyes was only sincerity.

Suddenly Hook became aware of what he had just done, growled something under his breath and turned away abruptly. Bewildered, the boy watched him stalk off. Well, _THAT_ was a new experience. Completely unnerving for both of them. Before this situation began, he knew all about the pirate-captain (so he thought). Things were simple: Hook was the villain who tried to kill him. End of story. But now, Peter was becoming aware that his sworn enemy was more than that – even as his ally. Hook had a side the boy had never suspected. He hadn't even tried to see anything in the pirate than a foe – until now, but the man had proven him wrong only a minute ago. Again. Maybe he was finally seeing something in the buccaneer that Wendy had already seen. There had to be a reason why she was so … so … soft toward the pirate, and he toward her. And the eternal boy started to understand that Hook could be pleasant if he was given a reason to.

Sighing, Peter rubbed his eyes. Why had everything become so complicated? Life had been so simple and now –

Voices were approaching, and among them one he knew well. A smile split his face when he turned and saw Giliath jogging toward him. Relief was on the Elf's face when he saw the boy mostly unharmed, and he stopped before him, laying a warm hand on Peter's shoulder. "You are well?" he asked, his green eyes sparkling.

Peter grinned back. "Aye! Arms and legs all where they belong," he joked, and found himself in a warm embrace. He wasn't used to physical affection like this (except from Wendy, of course, but that was different!) For a moment he stiffened, and then he couldn't deny that it felt bloody good to be held; to find security in the strong embrace of a – a grownup. Sweet Lord, have mercy on him! He had never admitted it before; not even to himself. But just now it felt far too good to care what the others thought of him. Surrendering to the need to feel safe for a moment, he wrapped his arms around the Elf and sighed. In that moment, he realized he could smell the Elf: forest, sandalwood and something he was not familiar with. And it was very comforting. Even his headache seemed to grow less for a moment and with a sigh, he relaxed.

Giliath smiled as he felt the boy, rigid at first, relax and lean on him. Yes, Peter was a fighter, a warrior, even as young as he was, but he was also a child. And every child needed affection and comfort, and the Elf was the last person to deny his little brother something he needed so desperately. It was several seconds before the boy lifted his head and shyly grinned at him. "Sorry. I… I only wanted… " Peter blushed, and Giliath gave a wry grin; looking straight through him.

"You didn't want to push me away. I know. _Diola alle, mellon min_."

Peter nodded, and let go of the Elf; clearing his throat. A snigger came from behind him, and he didn't need to turn to know that it was Hook. "Dear me! Master Pan giving hugs. I'm surprised, boy. I never thought you could express such a simple human need."

Ears aflame, Peter whirled around to snap at the man, but Hook had already passed by and was on his way toward the injured men being carried away. Peter stuck his tongue out in his direction; grumbling something about "typical Hook," and "old codfish." Giliath laughed aloud at him, and received a half-grin from his young friend. And only his sharp Elfish ears caught the pirate-captain's chuckle. In his own way the buccaneer had helped the boy, even if Peter didn't understand it.

Suddenly, shouts reached them through the tunnels and Giliath whirled, weapon ready. The other Elves, who knelt still around their dead comrade, jumped as one, swords and bows already in their hands. "They return, from the other side this time!" the he told them, and shouted commands to the others.

Hook and his pirates were already forming a new front. Their captain hastened toward Giliath. "You came from this direction, Giliath. Didn't you see anything?"

The Elf shot him a glare. "If that were so, do you really think I'd stand here making small-talk?" It was the first time he said anything remotely rude, but his nerves were standing on a thin edge.

Hook paused, blinking, surprised, then he made a face. "Your celebrated Elfin tranquility has come to an end, I see. Good to see you also have limits." He turned toward his men, shouting strict orders: "All men to me! Close up that line! Draw them away from the wounded! Mr. Smee? Ready to -- "

"CAP'N!" This was Henry, another pirate. "T'ey're comin' from t'e ot'er side as well!"

Hook cursed savagely and addressed Giliath. "Split up?"

The Elf nodded, shouting orders in his own language. Instantly seven Elves rushed to the pirates to strengthen their line, while the others built a wall of defense. Turning back to Hook, he asked, "Are you sure you want attack?"

Hook snarled. "We are pirates! And pirates know how to fight! Offense is the best defense." He pointed at Peter. "Stay here! You'll be safe between the lines. And don't do anything stupid 'til I am back!"

Peter glared at him, while the ache behind his forehead seemed to grow. "What!"

"Behave just this once, Pan!" Hook growled, and charged off, leading men and Elves in the direction of the attackers.

"I'm supposed to stay here? Who does that stiff codfish think I am to order me around? One of his crew?"

Giliath almost smiled. "He's right, Peter, stay here. The second wave is probably deadlier. We need you alive to save Neverland. And you've given a promise in pearl you have to keep." He pressed the boy's right hand, then he ran off, leading the other Elves into the tunnel in the opposite direction, from which snarls and hisses issued.

Peter watched them leave, then the direction Hook and his pirates vanished, and nearly lost his temper. Blasted codfish! He, Peter Pan, would not be left behind in a fight, missing all the fun! For a moment he nearly determined to follow Hook. The other two boys had gone that way, and he really wanted to see "that look" on Hook's face because he hadn't obeyed.

Then suddenly, he heard alarming shouts from Giliath's defense, while the snarling grew louder. And louder. Peter didn't understand their language, but one quick look at Tink showed him that the Elves were in deep trouble. Could it be that _they_ had encountered the main force of S'Hadh's army?

And then a defiant cry drowned out the sounds of the dark creatures, the death-cry of an Elf.

That did it. Ignoring Tink's wild jingling (she shared the others' opinion that Peter needed to stay put), the boy charged forward. He pushed off into the air to travel quicker, and found himself falling solidly to the ground. And it hurt!

He stared into the dim light, while Tink circled above him, sounding worried. "What…?" he whispered and rose slowly. He was bruised, scratched, and his knee bled from the fall. Wide-eyed and incredulous, he swallowed hard and tried again to launch himself in the air. This time the fall wasn't so hard, because it didn't take him by surprise, but he moaned in astonishment. For a moment, he simply sat there; too shocked to move. "Tink?" he whispered. "Why can't I fly anymore?" For a moment he thought back on this dreadful nightmare of two days ago, in which he also had been unable to fly, and something like panic awoke in him. What if this nightmare was more than a simple dream? What, if it had been something like … like a prophecy?

The fairy remembered that, too, even if she didn't dare speak it aloud. Instead she said something, and met the boy's surprised gaze.

"NO! Of course I have still my happy thoughts!" He fingered for the little sack on his belt and felt the little pearl inside, Wendy's tear. Warmth spread through him by the very thought of the girl, but before he could make another attempt to lift himself into the air, another cry reached him.

Forgetting his problem for a moment, he ran forward. Giliath needed help! And he would never abandon one of his friends! Gripping his dagger he hastened along the tunnel and soon reached the battle. He stopped short when he saw the overwhelming number the enemy had sent to fight them.

One Elf was holding off a dozen Goblins, Impets and other creatures. Three Elves were already slain, lying askew on the floor of the tunnel. Peter looked frantically for Giliath and found him in the middle of the battle. He fought with the grace and grim savagery of a white lion; the blade of his sword whirling between beasts like a silver tornado. But more Goblins were turning to attack him, and it was only a question of time before they would overpower him.

Feeling a joyous rage thundering in his ears, Peter gripped his dagger more firmly and threw himself in the middle of the fight. Tink screamed something like 'come back', but the boy was beyond her influence. Fearfully, she watched how her friend fought his way through clusters of fangs, claws, swords, lances. From her position above the fight, she saw that the Elves and Peter were hopelessly outnumbered. Torn between remaining where she could see and helping her friend (even if she didn't stand a chance against those creatures), it came to her that she might be able to summon some help. Like a golden comet, she darted back the way she and Peter had come. She saw that the whole thing had been a trap, and the only one who could help the Elves (and Peter!) were Hook and his men. He was the only one close enough to reach them in time. She had to get the pirate-captain immediately, or Peter would be captured!

Peter fought his way toward danger, flung blades out of his way, avoided lances, cut off paws and kicked Impets. Finally, gasping for breath, he reached Giliath, still fighting as three. But for every enemy struck down, three more seemed to their place. A Goblin dove in behind him, yanking on his legs. The Elf lost his balance and he was wrestled to his knees.

A Goblin commander gripped his silky hair and pulled his head back. "Where isss it, Elf?" the creature snarled, and Giliath struggled uselessly while eight Goblins hung at him and two Impets had attached themselves to his cape and doublet.

He couldn't shake them off. "Your words mean nothing to me, _Saurarea_, foolish one!" he hissed; his green eyes almost black with wrath.

He received a brutal blow to his head. "Don't lie! The massster hasss sssaid that you are posssessssssor! You are the one sssent to defeat ussss. Give it to me, and I'll kill you quickly!"

Giliath only spat into his face. The Goblin snarled and raised his sword to take off his head.

"Leave him alone!" the boy's treble command pierced the noise of battle, and the two Impets on Giliath's shoulder and back where hurled away as Peter used his dagger and the sword he had picked up during his fight through the crowd. The Goblin-leader looked up and his yellow eyes widened. Several of his comrades turned to rush the boy, whose blades eliminated two of the others holding Giliath down.

The Elf gasped as he finally recognized the boy. "Peter! _RUN_!"

The Goblin-leader stared at the human child that fought like a whirlwind, who wore the leaves. He saw the pipe on the boy's belt – and then the name the Elf used – "That isss the boy the massster wantsss! Take him, but alive!" he shouted suddenly, kicking Giliath in the belly, jumped over him and tackled Peter.

"Get off me, you ugly excuse for a dwarf!" the eternal boy snarled, and slashed with his dagger. But the Goblin blocked the weapon with his own. Two other Goblins and an Impet threw themselves on the boy, and Peter had had hands full to hold them at bay.

Giliath struck at those left holding him, twisting like a demented eel, and managed it to shake off the rest of the enemies. Quickly he rose, bent down, picked two of the Goblins off the boy and threw them away. He became aware of a sharp pain, and as he looked down, he saw a blade sticking out below his ribs.

"GILIATH!" Peter screamed and redoubled his efforts to throw off his attackers. Between enemies he saw the Elf staggering, and shook off the Goblin-leader with the strength of despair. But instantly three other Goblin were on him, and roughly forced his arms behind his back, twisted brutally so that pain exploded in him. With horror he saw another sword striking the Elf, who fell to his knees. "No! Stop!" he yelled and a hard blow sent his senses reeling.

"Sshhhut up, vermin!" The commander gripped his hair (he had to reach up to do so) and forced the writhing child to watch. "Kill the Elf!"

Again Peter struggled, icy fear gripping his heart. "NO! No, please! Let him live!" he screamed. Appalled, he saw that the most of the other Elves down; the air smelled of blood, the foul smell of death.

Giliath could feel life leaching away. But at the anguished look on the pale face of his young friend, he gathered his strength once more. Kicking away the Goblin who had thrust his sword into him, he pulled it out (darkness threatening to overpower him) and used it to defeat two opponents. He heard Peter shouting, and turned to him, feeling as though he were moving in treacle, and something burned in his left upper arm. This time he did fall. His sight blurred and he was growing dizzy. Around him he saw only the legs of his enemies, and fallen comrades.

A blow on his head, and the blackness overtook him. _For a moment, he thought he saw tree trunks in front of him, sunbeams bathing them in a golden light. He thought he could hear the soft sigh of a warm wind that moved in the dark green leaves, helping the trees to sing. He could smell the sweet flowers, while above him birds chirped their agile songs to the sun. He was home – he was home! Finally he was back in his valley. He heard someone calling his name and glanced about. A woman ran toward him; her long pale hair danced like a curtain waving behind her; the sleeves of her light-green dress blew in the wind. Her green eyes, so very much like his own, shone down on him, while she touched his face as she had done since they both were small children. Smiling, he raised his own hand to touch his sister's soft fingers --_

-- and another cruel blow pulled him back to the cave. The peace was gone, replaced with blood, with pain. For a second his sight cleared and he saw a look of horror on Peter's face. He thought he could hear the boy calling his name, but everything sounded as if through cotton, then movement again slowed while darkness pulled at him. He knew that he was dying. Then utterly blackness wrapped him in oblivion.

Peter felt tears rising as he watched his friend collapse, unmoving. Several of the Goblins kicked the motionless body, and the boy raged helplessly. "You venal COWARDS! You miserable white-livered chicken-hearted yellow belly! Kicking a man who's down!" he screamed ignoring the sharp slap of the Goblin commander.

"SSSilent, or you will be brought as dead flessshhh to the Massster!"

"GET. OFF. ME!" the boy snarled back, half blind with tears, and kicked the Goblin in the gut with all his might; acting out the agony in his soul that seemed to squash his heart. The creature was hurled backward and several of his underlings snickered, but quieted as he turned.

Peter saw the blow coming and steeled himself against it, knowing it didn't matter. He knew that he was a rabbit in a trap, and, even worse, had lost a wonderful friend who had been closer to him than any grownup he ever knew. As the fist slammed into his head and blackness washed over him, he almost welcomed it.

----------------------------

"T'is is madness!"

Skylight's fist slammed on the table in the common-room on board the _Jolly Roger_, and several of his comrades nodded.

Billy Jukes hitched up his pants, pacing back and forth from one wall to the next and back again. "Got a better idea to 'elp t'e cap'n? We be sittin' 'ere and twiddlin' 'r' thumbs, while 'r' mates and t'e cap'n fight t'e fight o' t'eir lives."

Albino, who looked as if a herd of wild horses had raced over him, cleaned his dark spectacles, which were, miraculously, still intact. "Wha' about wha' we faced?" he pointed outside. "We fought off a 'ole murder of t'ose hag-faced oversized crows and ghosts! Don't tell me t'at we ain't done nuffin in t'is whole shitload!"

"Language!" Bumblyn peeped and, moaning, pressed a cold washcloth back on his head. The fight against the harpy had given the brave tyke a number of bruises.

"And, by t'e way, our li'll Miss was t'e one 'oo frighten' t'ose nasty floaters away, and not us!" Bollard interjected, and all eyes in the room turned to the slender figure that sat at one of the tables with the three boys, looking miserable.

Skylight took pity and went to her, laying a calloused hand on her shoulder. "Don't be afraid, li'l Miss. T'e cap'n won't tear yer 'ead off."

Wendy looked up at the older pirate, who tried in his awkward way to comfort her. For the first time she didn't see in them as dirty cutthroats anymore, but men who lived life their own way, and comrades-at-arms. "No, he'll gut me, or send me off the plank again," she murmured, and dropped her head on her hands.

She didn't dare consider the mess that was above her in Hook's quarters. After they all had all recovered from the attack (the girl as well as the men), the pirates accompanied her down to their common-room; insisting that she drink a small glass of rum, ignoring Nihal's protest that she was far too young for that. Surprisingly, the buccaneers comforted her and lauded her; saying that everything would turn out to be all right and that they would help her. After all, they owed her their lives.

Billy Jukes treated the scratches she received during the fight, and Bollard fetched her a basin of fresh water to clean herself. They all were dumbfounded that a _girl_ had fought off five harpies, and, indeed, had risked her own life by playing the harpsichord with the door open. The girl was indeed a lioness; no doubt about it! And they appreciated it!

Jukes came sat down beside her. "Na, Missy! T'e cap'n likes ye too much fer t'at." The others nodded in agreement. "And don't worry yer pretty head. We'll help ye to put it all back in order."

The Oriental nodded. "I help ye wit' t'e carpets."

"And I will refinish t'e door t' t'e closet," Mullins added.

"Aye, we'll haul out the carcasses and pick up 'is goods," Bollard volunteered.

"Ye see," Billy grinned, "when t'e cap'n comes back aboard, 'is cabin will look like new."

Wendy raised her head, feeling grateful for their attempts to cheer her up. Of course she knew that the cabin wouldn't look 'like new' to the Captain. Too many things were broken, and the blood on the walls and on the carpets would stain. They would only be removed by cleaning them repeatedly. And that glass and crockery that was destroyed, as well as containers with his chemicals and the glass cabinet couldn't be hidden from him. Hook would be outraged, to say the least. She felt cold inside.

A soft touch on her hand distracted her, and she met Bumblyn's light blue eyes. "Forget not, my lady: I am your protector!" he whispered conspiratorially, and winked at her; his flexible ears swinging back and forth.

Wendy attempted a smile. "You have already saved me, my friend. That debt is paid. You saved my life."

The Hobgoblin grinned. "By all the taters in Neverland, think you that I would leave you now!"

Wendy lifted one brow. "What do you mean?"

"I am your right hand until this wollywinkin' war is over." He bent toward her and smirked: "The way through the marsh and snowy wood back to the castle is not for legs such as mine. Instead, I wait 'til the sun is returned again and chases away the winter. And so I have nothing else to do but come with you."

The girl giggled and realized that Bumblyn didn't stay with her because of some old stale tradition among his people, but out of loyalty, possibly a friendly affection. She felt a warmth expanding in her chest, and tears threatening to spill from her eyes yet again. Giving in to the impulse, she pulled the Hobgoblin in a tight embrace and hugged him close, which he didn't seem to mind, considering his beaming face, his tiny fingers digging in the folds of her doublet, and that tail wrapped around her.

The men chuckled. Their captain had been right. How like a girl! But it was, somehow, sweet to watch her with her whimsical friend.

"Chin up, Wendy!" Michael added. "Hook really is sweet on you, and so -- "

"Wait -- what?" the girl squeaked, turning red from the hair roots to toe.

The twins nodded. "Hey, he protected you twice."

"You mean, three times!" his brother corrected.

"Yeah, three times. He even let you sleep in his bed."

"And let you use his library!"

"And his parchments!"

"And his brush and water closet in the Black Castle!"

"And he gave you his shirt!"

"And he comforted you!"

"And he took your place at the thorns!"

"And he rescued you from the harpies!"

"And -- "

"STOP IT!" The rough laughter of the buccaneers echoed throughout the room. Even the Elves smiled while Bumblyn giggled. "That isn't true!" she cried out; her heart beating much too fast.

" 'Scuse me, Missy, but yer dwarves 'r' right!" Jukes snickered. "T'e cap'n is indeed sweet on ye!"

Wendy felt herself trembling, even if she didn't know why. Where was the nearest hole in the wall? Or why didn't the ground open to swallow her whole? She wasn't used to being the centre of such rough jokes and -- Well, the pirates (and the boys) didn't see it as a joke, but as truth, and that made her even more nervous. "You are all insane!" she said weakly, and earned more laughter.

It was Nihal who finally showed some mercy on her, went to her and smooth her still tousled hair. "Peace, my lady. They only wish to tease. You must remember, they are, after all, 'only pirates'."

Wendy nodded, then blushed again, hearing her own words to Hook. The mere thought that this powerful, sometimes savage/sometimes gentle man could be 'sweet' on her frightened her and thrilled her in one. And that this one revelation was a welcome one shocked her even more. Why, this was indecent, indecorous, improper, and _completely_ out of question that she would be pleased to be the centre of a criminal's affections! But, he was, after all, the villain and captain of her fairy-tales; the very same person she had dreamed of meeting, who had fascinated her and whom she had learned to fear, until he had grown into someone she had begun to trust and, as she reluctantly admitted to herself, a man she cared for. And it truly was better to be – not his target for revenge – but the target of his affection!

Revenge.

Oh dear.

Hook certainly would think consider it once again as soon as he learned what had happened to his quarters!

"Ah, come on, lads, let 'er alone!" Skylight finally laughed. "Or our lass'll soon be overcome wit' t'e vapors!"

"Aye! And t'en we've t'e cap'n at our t'roats!" Mullins added, and returned to his table to refill his glass with rum.

"Don't drink so much! We got a long way t' go!" Billy Jukes scolded, and Mullins tapped his finger to his head.

"Ye're out of yer bleedin' mind if ya t'ink t'at we c'n tote them smaller cannons up into t'e mountains an' ter t'is damn volcano!"

"T'e cap'n needs us, and t'e cannons! He will see t'at we aren't t'em dogs he allus calls us!"

"Yes!" Quang Lee nodded. "When we save his hide he'll t'ink ot'erwise about us!"

Nihal exchanged a quick glance with his comrade. "Do I understand you correctly, Mr. Jukes? You intend to move several of the smaller cannons through the woods up to the Mount of No Return to aid your allies?" The tattooed gunman nodded. "This will be dangerous. We could only progress very slowly."

"Jus' wha' I tol' 'im!" Cecco grumbled. "T'e whole plan's insane!"

"But not impossible!" peeped another voice and, growing silent, the buccaneers turned around to look at the pixie, who sat on one of the tables, serving himself bread and meat. Of course the attack of the harpies hadn't been without consequences for him and Aurora, as well, even though they found shelter under the deck.

"Whaddaya mean, ya pipsqueak?" Mullins asked skeptically. (Mullins came from Cornwall and was very familiar with their evil reputation. He didn't like having one of the little troublemakers aboard. He remembered all the nights his father's two horses were left panted and useless in the morning, and everyone in the village knew that pixies had used them to ride. And he got lost one time on his way home from a neighboring farm, and that in spite of the fact that he had followed the same path since he had been a small boy. No, pixies were NOT his favorite little people.)

Kailen looked at Aurora, and blurted out, "Fairy-dust! Easy solution!"

The rose-fairy's eyes widened, and she jingled something that obviously meant, "What?"

The pixie grinned, "Easy to fly with fairy-dust – easy for children, even a man."

"And what about happy thoughts?" Michael asked, still feeling a little guilty that he had revealed the secret of flying his first time on the _Jolly Roger_, the reason Hook was able to weaken Peter enough to drop him to the deck.

"I say," a twin nodded, "cannons can't have happy thoughts."

Kailen rolled his eyes. "No, no need for them. For you see, they be only land stuff. But fairy-dust makes them to almost have no weight. Kailen remembers the night that from the water this whole ship lifted out, from fairies and fairy dust. Near the cliffs that night was I, when it happened." He looked around. "Carry cannons to the fire mountain covered in fairy-dust? Not hard at all."

Aurora shook her head, clearly distressed, while she chimed again. The pixie sighed. "More of this stuff we will need. A LOT of this stuff. Could we not ask your people to help us, once we were in the woods?"

All eyes were now on the tiny green man and the beautiful little rose-fairy. It was Cecco who finally murmured: "T'at would give us a chance!"

Aurora seemed to consider the proposition, and felt all the eyes on her. Yes, it was a chance worthy of an attempt, and she knew her queen would not deny any assistance the eternal boy needed. Only the thought of traveling over that icebound sea again and then through the haunted wood with its creatures made her shudder.

She felt Kailen's hand taking hers and looked into his eyes. "Never alone would you be," he murmured for her ears only. She was shocked to realize how well he seemed to know her thoughts. "With you we are, and when part you must from us to fly to your people, so will I come with you." Her eyes grew wide, and he smiled sheepishly. "Let me live, might they, even if I dare to court you?"

Aurora blushed and said something that made him giggle.

"Of course I court you. Can you not tell it is so?"

She scoffed something at him, lifted herself into the air and spoke with Nihal, who smiled at her, before he bowed. "_Diola alle_, Aurora. Your help will never be forgotten."

For a moment, it was quiet while the pirates absorbed the Elf's reply, then they cheered. "A'right! Up t' t'e volcano!" Cecco grinned.

"We gotta be insane! We're pirates, not soldiers!" Mullins smirked, but the prospect of a new adventure and battle didn't daunt him, but rather the opposite. Anything was better than sitting here on a frozen ship and waiting for doom to take them, or children to rescue them!

Jukes eyed the children. "Well, someone hasta stay wivvem!" he thought aloud; feeling somehow responsible for the pretty girl and the little boys.

Wendy rose. "We go with you."

Cecco scratched his head. "I don't t'ink t'at t'e cap'n's goin' to like t'is."

The girl stood, arms akimbo, her face stern. "I will NOT stay alone here on board while the rest of you are involved in the most important battle the island has ever seen! Besides that, the harpies could return, and who would protect my brothers and me then?"

"But… " Skylight began.

"And how would you dare face you captain if one of those beasts killed me while I was defenseless here on board? You've said it yourself – I'm under the Captain Hook's protection."

Nihal stared, trying very hard not to laugh, while Bumblyn, Kailen and Aurora snickered. As if this girl needed anyone's protection. She used every advantage she had. And it was rare that it missed its effect.

Just like now.

"She's right!" Bollard grumbled.

"Yeah! T'e cap'n would keelhaul us if somet'in' happens t' t'e lass."

"We've gotta take 'er wit' us!"

Wendy grinned triumphantly. This time she wouldn't be brushed aside, condemned by her gender to remain on the sidelines, and she would soon be re-united with Peter! She would be able to help him and –

- And she would have to confess to Hook that his cabin had become a battlefield. She sighed resignedly. Well, she would think about that later. She looked at Nihal (who seemed at the crossroads between amusement and irritation,) took Michael by the hand and waved to the Twins to come with her. "Back to the cabin! We'll be ready in a few minutes."

Mullins glanced at her. "Wot about t'e cap'n's cabin?"

Wendy straightened her back and faced the man. "We'll just tell him about it and fix it when we get back."

Jukes smiled, which made the tattooed spider-webs dance. "No fear. We'll tell 'im wot 'appened."

The girl took a deep breath. Well, the men could consider themselves lucky if Hook spared them.

An hour later, the pirates, two Elves, the four children and their three magical companions were trudging through the frozen marshes again. But this time they had no Will-O'-the-Wisps or sheeries to guide them, and a lot to carry: Seven smaller cannons normally moved on land in a wagon pulled by a horse, five barrels of gunpowder and nine boxes of shot. And if it not for the golden dust of the rose-fairy, they would never have managed to get this all over the frozen sea. Aurora had to continually renew the golden dust, for the wind and the ice-crystals lashing them blew it away in minutes.

The rose fairy was growing tired by now and yearned to come to the woods, where she and Kailen would separate from the others to search out the fairy-queen and beg her for help.

Wendy pulled her cape closer around her. She knew that the walk to the Mount of No Return would be even harder than their walk from the Black Castle to Pirate's Cove, but she knew that she had to accompany them. Peter needed her! John and the other boys needed her! Giliath, Thalion and the other Elves needed her! And Hook needed the additional men and the weapons to fight this miserable enemy! She only hoped they wouldn't reach their destination, the opening they had fired on, completely exhausted and that the opening wasn't stopped up, for it was their only way inside of the mountain. The enemy had never thought that they would use it.

Bumblyn sat on her shoulder and sighed deeply. "This will be a looooong trip, e'en for lengthy legs," he murmured, and the girl answered firmly.

"Yes, but our friends need us. And, by the way, who was it who told me 'I won't let you down', and 'I've nothing better to do, lady'?"

The Hobgoblin grumbled something in his odd language, before he answered: "I had a hangover. Oh, and the blow on the head -- _Jiklnerwanabenkliquinslavanbioweklanske_! Stupid tree!" he screamed, as a tree unloaded its heavy freight of snow down on Wendy and her little friend.

Of course the girl held her tongue from saying anything untoward, after all she was a soon-to-be young lady! but a quiet indiscretion escaped her, nonetheless, as she shook off the icy mass. She shot her brother and the Twins a nasty glare, who doubled over with laughter. The pirates were snickering and even the two Elves had to chuckle. Kailen and Aurora, again dressed in the makeshift ponchos, guffawed together. "Ha, ha! Very funny!" Wendy growled, which only caused the boys to laugh even harder. And because of the incautious merriment, no one heard the crunching of snow beneath leathered feet; this time not even the Elves were wary.

And so they all were startled as a deep voice with a strange accent seemed to come from the air around them: "Stay where you are! Don't move!"

They heard the drawing of many bows, and the pirates gasped and cursed. Damn damn damn! They had been euchred like bloody beginners! The two warriors exchanged a quick glance with each other – that didn't sound like Goblins! – while Bumblyn clung to Wendy, which forced some of the snow down her collar. "Let go!" she hissed, but the Hobgoblin held tight onto her, tail wrapped around her upper arm.

Then a tall form approached from the dark and shadows. Long black hair was held by a band; deep brown eyes observed the troop with distrust and anger, while feathers leather fringes blew in the wind.

Wendy let out a yelp and ran forward, while Bumblyn fell off her shoulder, shouting one of his endless curses. The newcomer lifted a hand to signal not to shoot, while he accepted the girl that fell on his neck with a joyful shout.

"Great Panther!"

TBC…

Dear Readers,

now the fight is in fully on - and I know that I've shocked several of you because of Giliath. To calm you all a little bit: Elves are strong. Well, and for Peter begins a hard way... And in the next chapter he will learn a lot abouttrust and loyalty, betrayal and lies.

Pleeeeaaaaase review - and thank you for the last ones. I really do appreciate them.

Love

Lywhn


	30. “But If The Ally Turns … Traitor ”

Dear readers,

I am sorry that it took so long, but therefor the coming chapter will be very loooong, and I am certain that it is a thriller. So lean back and enjoy... (imagine me smirking)

**Chapter 29 – "But If The Ally Turns … Traitor ..."**

Dead silence met Hook, his men and the seven Elves as they ran back to the place where Giliath's contingent battled the warlock's servants. Tinker Bell found the Captain in the thick of a fight, and told him that the others were outnumbered and needed help. Immediately! But first the pirates and the others had to defeat enemies they were facing before they could follow the golden fairy, who aided them by flying in the enemy's faces blinding them with a burst of light. John and Slightly, head bandaged, had joined them; clearly worried about their friend and the other Elves.

Hook frowned as they neared the other battlefield. He knew what the silence and that smell portended -- death. He was quite familiar with it. He signaled Smee to hold the torch higher, and even before he saw the first dead Elf and the heap of dead Goblins, he knew that the tunnel was now a morgue. Halting, he took several deep breaths – the air rank with death – and cleared his throat. "Spread out and search for survivors!" he commanded, while he peered through the dim, reddish light. Uneasiness stirred in his belly. "And search for Pan! As Miss Bell informed me, that stupid brat didn't listen and might already be dead!" He shook his head and cursed under his breath. His men were looking for survivors.

The seven Elves, all of them wounded but still able-bodied, bent over their fallen comrades. A deep pain lay on their beautiful faces – a pain far worse than any physical wound could inflict. Elves mourned at a level humans never reached, and it shook them more profoundly when they lost someone. It was Henry who finally approached his captain and shook his head. No one was still alive; neither ally nor enemy.

Hook snarled, then heard the two boys beside him gasping. "Where's Pan?" he asked.

"He's no where t' be found, Sir!" Henry replied, and Hook felt -- surprisingly – relief. Then he balled his hand into a fist. _Where was that damn brat?_ He'd followed Giliath, against strict orders, and here were the sad remains of the Elf's party. So where was the child?

"Cap'n? 'Ere, if'n y' would, please!" Smee called, is voice sounding odd, and warily Captain Hook made his way toward the man; the boys and a weeping fairy on his heels.

"What is it, Mr. Smee?" Wordlessly, the old Irishman, pale and tired even in the uneven torchlight, pointed at his feet, and Hook closed his eyes for a moment when he recognized the bloody shape that lay on the stained floor. "Giliath!" he whispered and knelt down beside the fallen Elf. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he turned the tall figure on his back, and peered into the Elf's pale face. The once-glowing pearl-white skin was grey, waxy and sweaty. Blood oozed from wound on his head, and soaked his hair and part of his cape. Carefully he touched one cheek – the skin was hot – before he quickly examined the rest of him. He found a wound in his side, as well as two others on his left arm and leg. But his temperature and the bleeding proved he still lived. "Giliath?" Hook called quietly and jostled the wounded man warily. "Can you hear me?"

A low moan came from the pale lips of the Elf, and his eyes started to flutter. Again the buccaneer called the Elf, who finally opened his glassy eyes. "Peter?"

Hook had to listen very carefully to make out the word. "No. It's Hook. What happened, Giliath? Where's the boy?"

"So many ..." the Elf whispered and the other warriors who had returned with Hook's troop knelt near him. "So many ..." he murmured. "Couldn't defeat them ... too many ... Peter ... came ... fought but ... I couldn't protect him ... failed him ..."

The buccaneer's eyes grew troubled, while something cold knotted in his stomach. "What about him? Is he dead?"

John and Slightly reached for each other; fearing the answer, and Tink's hands were pressed against her mouth as she hovered close to hear the words. "I … don't know," Giliath answered; his voice barely audible, his words slurred, full of pain. "I lost sight ... they took …" He coughed blood. One of the Elves knelt down beside him and laid one hand on his forehead, supernaturally pouring his life into the other. In a moment, Giliath ceased coughing enough to continue. "I don't think … he is dead. S'Hadh ... needs him alive." His voice was a whisper.

Again he coughed and Hook shifted, lifting the Elf's head carefully into his lap. He knew that it would be easier for the Elf to breathe now. "Go on," he urged him, aware that all of his men surrounded them.

Giliath took a shuddering breath. Every word was an effort. "The D … Dark One needs him for youth … for … renewal. This is why they always tried … to take Peter alive." Again he coughed, and John crouched beside him, and wiped the blood from his chin. "Thank you," the Elf whispered, and turned his eyes again to Hook. "I am sure … they have taken Peter … to S'Hadh. He will … kill him."

Hook spat, fuming. "That thrice damned, blind, arrogant, stupid BOY!" he exploded. "I told ... no, I _commanded_ him to stay out of trouble! But did he listen to me? Of course not! Goddamn ungrateful brat! I should leave him where he is!"

Giliath weakly raised a hand. "Don't … be harsh with him. He … desired … to help me."

"Of course!" Hook snapped, redfaced with anger. "I am intimately familiar with his problem of sacrificing himself for his friends, the little idiot!" For a moment everyone was silent. "If not for my ship, I'd give that sorcerer my absolute blessing! But the _Jolly Roger_ depends on his stupid yellow head!"

Giliath could see the pirate above him as through mist, but Elves perceived people and their surroundings with more than their physical senses. They had nearly perfect awareness of the feelings of others. And what he could feel beneath Hook's first class hissy fit was not only fury because of the situation, but a hidden fear for the boy, too. Somehow his hate had begun a significant transfiguration, something that the Elf sensed as worry. Taking as deep a breath as he could manage, Giliath made a decision – very risky, possibly the end of them all, but he had no other options left. He couldn't fight the dark wizard anymore, and Peter had to be saved. He prayed that he wasn't wrong about this man. If so, everything was lost. With great effort, he reached for the sheath, having lost his sword somewhere before he was struck down by the Goblins.

Hook watched the movements and frowned. "What's the point of that?" he asked gruffly. "Do you intend to fight in your condition?"

"Help me with the sheath," Giliath murmured, fingering the opening. "There. Pull it out." The pirate-captain lifted a brow, but did as the Elf had asked him. He felt the extra piece inside and carefully pulled on it. It was easy to draw out of the sheath, and his eyes grew as he saw what it was. The silver blade had a graceful curve. It bore strange characters upon its satin surface, and as he closed his hand around the beautiful hilt, there was a soft click as the crossguards flipped open from alongside the blade, to protect the hand. A glow shone from the blade and seemed to chase the shadows away for a moment. The sword had been hidden in the sheath behind the weapon Giliath had used until now. "_Celeb-Valar_," Giliath whispered and looked almost affectionately at the sleek blade. "Silver-Might have the Eldest named this weapon … Keep it, Captain. You will need it."

Hook's eyes were still on the beautiful razor-sharp weapon, and shook his head. "Thank you, Giliath, but I have my own good sword, and –"

"NO!" the Elf interrupted him and paused to cough again. "You will need this weapon to save Peter. I am no longer able to."

"What do you want me to do?" Hook asked, eyeing the blade with misgiving.

Giliath was wheezing now. "You are the only one … who can guide the ship out of storm. It was you … from the very beginning."

If someone had slapped him, the man's reaction couldn't have been any more shocked. He shied back. "Your fever is speaking, Elf! It's your job to protect that stupid brat and ..."

The warrior slowly shook his head. "My job was … to support you … and Peter … so that your purposes could be fulfilled. But the last determinate step is yours, Captain. So it always has been! Remember, ' ... if friend stands by friend, if enemy helps enemy and if young and old are going the same way, then the dark one has to fall ...' "

Giliath fought another coughing-fit. "The prophecy ... says more."

Hook deposited Giliath's head on the floor of the cave and jumped back from him, as if the injured man radiated danger. "Let's get one thing straight, Elf: I agreed to help the boy to save my ship! His personal survival is NOT my concern!"

Giliath sighed. By the silver stars of the Valars, this mortal really was stubborn and blind as a dwarf at night! "Lying to me is one thing … Captain, but stop lying to yourself!"

Hook laughed, but it sounded hollow and nervous, even in his own ears. "I would enjoy killing the boy by myself. Some things can't be changed --"

Giliath ignored him and pointed at the Elfish sword. "Take _Celeb-Vala_r. It will help you to save Peter and yourself."

"I don't understand why --"

"The power in this blade … is poison to the servants … of the Dark One." He took another rattling breath and his face grimaced in agony. "Every weapon we create … is made for a special task. This blade was forged especially … for the battle for Neverland. It will release its power only one time: to fulfill its bearer's greatest wish, for whom it was made. You will need this power … to free Peter."

Hook very carefully examined the sword. "Of what power do you speak?" he asked carefully. He was wary about magic, and the more he saw and heard, the surer he was that this thing was trouble.

Again Giliath coughed, and his comrades and the boys knelt about him, holding his hands, wishing they could do more. He could feel their anxiety, and their desire to comfort him – and it warmed him, easing the pain. "The sword … you hold … is uncontaminated. It was named with his true name to retain its power even more effectively … bathed in the blessed waters of our silver-fountains." He gasped for breath. "We ... can pour our own abilities into weapons, they become quicker, more deadly." He was aware of his comrades' glares as he revealed Elfish secrets, but he saw no other way.

With growing uneasiness Hook looked at the blade. Magic was a thing he avoided wherever he could. On the other hand, if this sword really was as the Elf said, then it portended extraordinary possibilities. He examined it closely, getting familiar with its weight, and felt it flow into his hand, adjusting itself to his grip, while a glimmer darted up the blade. From one moment to the next, it went from unfamiliar to feeling as though it belonged there.

John had listened closely, and now spoke up. "Giliath, is this the weapon the prophecy mentions? The weapon that can defeat S'Hadh?"

"What part of the prophecy?" Hook demanded. "Pan never said anything about a 'special weapon'!"

John and Slightly exchanged a quick glance before Slightly explained, "The prophecy mentions a weapon that can bring down the wizard or us. What were the words?"

John cleared his throat. " ...'But if the ally turns in a traitor, and the blade beams toward itself, then the dark one will prevail and lost are light and life ...' " He sighed. "Giliath?"

The Elf's eyes had closed; his face exhausted. It was with great effort that he opened his eyes, looking into the captain's, forest-green to forget-me-not-blue; like their first meeting. Giliath's voice grew more firm. "Listen, Captain! This sword … must never fall into the enemy's hand! You cannot … abuse its might, or everything we have done … will be for naught! Peter's inner strength ... the power of his youth ... the blade's force can also be used … to transfer his strength … to the Dark One. Everything will be lost!"

Hook frowned and glared at the sword. "When 'the blade beams toward itself' ..." His eyes met Giliath's again. "You do know that you've just given me vital confidential information?"

"No … other choice," Giliath said truthfully. He tried unsuccessfully to rise, and moaned in pain. "You ... you MUST save him. Swear that you will … confront S'Hadh and will ... strive ..." Another fit of coughing shook him.

The pirate-captain's glance danced over the silver-shimmering blade, chewing his bottom lip; lost in thoughts, then his eyes met the Elf's one more time. "I swear on my life that I will face this absurd wizard, and I'll return the sword to you." He held Giliath's eyes, and then his gaze swept the others – and he turned abruptly away. He knew exactly the opportunity that had been given him and how he intended to use it.

"What do ye gonna to do, Cap'n?" Smee asked, and met Hook's cold look. The merciless commander he'd always known was back.

"This sword holds the capacity to fulfill one wish of its bearer. Well, that's a chance you might get once in your life!" He stood taller, a grim expression on his face. "I'm sure a lot of people will be quite shocked."

---------------------------

The air was stifling, close, and smelled of rotten eggs. Peter wished that he could wipe the sweat from his eyes, but his hands were bound. Accustomed to tropical temperatures, this was too warm. He had a throbbing headache from the blow, as well as from the stinking air. Worst of all, his throat ached with thirst. The floor of the passage he was forced to walk was so hot that even his weathered feet hurt now. The stones were so harsh that even his tough calluses couldn't protect him.

Never stopping, his captors silently dragged him trotting through endless tunnels. Stalactites hung from high arched ceilings, streaked yellow with brimstone. Their partner stalagmites grew up from the ground, and he stumbled against many of them. Peter clenched his mouth closed. He would NOT moan in front of those … THINGS, but the pain in his feet increased.

From time to time an odd rumble came from below, straight out of the mountain. Most times a soft trembling followed the noises, and as they passed a gallery, Peter could see a dangerous red gleaming up from the depths. He knew that they were now deep inside the Mount, and the excited thrill he had been expecting, visiting an active volcano, was quickly changing to worry. His instincts, connected to the island for so long now, were raising an alarm. He knew that no place in the whole of Neverland was more dangerous than the caves he now traversed. And even a careless boy would feel uneasy in such a situation.

At one point a troll joined them and shoved Peter roughly forward. The Goblin-leader giggled at the boy's protest, while the troll growled something and pushed him again. "Stupid mob! You make Hook's pirates look like noblemen, next to you!" His captors said nothing, but the troll lifted his ham-sized hand threateningly, and so Peter felt it prudent (and less painful) to shut up. He already had a nasty headache.

Finally, when the boy had finally concluded that their march would never end, they reached a long gallery and something like steps, roughly chiseled into the stones, leading down into another cave. Several dark creatures looked up impassively as they entered. Despite the heat, there was something wintry, bitter in the air – something the boy had never experienced before. Something was here; something he didn't want to face. Straightening his shoulders, he followed the Goblin-leader and the others down the stairs. He knew that without his ability to fly, it would be foolish to refuse. He had trouble keeping up with them while he descended the steep stair, and reaching the bottom, his legs felt wobbly.

The dead bitterness seemed worse here, and lay heavily on him. With wary eyes he looked around him. Several smaller caves branched off from the great one. Huge torches suspended in iron around the walls bathed the cavern in a red-gold light. Multiple candelabras set about made the area appear almost livable. Giant pillars grew out of the ground and melted into the ceiling, giving the appearance of columns. Words were whispered in the shadows in a language he couldn't understand. The rumbling growl seemed to come straight out of the walls.

Peter swallowed. No, he did not want to be here!

Suddenly, a ragged creature flew down and landed in front of the boy; its mighty wings flapping a moment for balance, coal eyes flashing in a white hag-face. "You!" Kelaino, the daughter of the north-wind croaked, thin lips drawn back in a grimace to reveal her sharp yellow teeth. She rose to her full height; her expression full of hate. "Thanksssss to you and your bloodlessssss foreign friend, I have thisssssssssss!" Peter could see her chest where his knife and Giliath's arrow had wounded her, now healing. "And for it," she hissed again, "I'll tear you apart!" she screamed and lifted one clawed foot, ignoring the Goblin-leader's hissed warnings and the troll's grumble.

Peter crouched, ready for a fight. Yes, he ached from Giliath's death, was exhausted, and bore a searing headache, but he was still Peter Pan – the Prince of Neverland, the eternal boy. He would not be eaten by this … THING! Just like he'd done to Hook, he kicked the harpy in the belly. "Then come and try, you loathsome excuse for a-raven!" he snarled.

The winged creature tumbled over and came to lie on her back; wings spread. The troll next to Peter lifted his hand to slap him, and the boy proudly lifted his head and looked straight into the vicious little eyes above him – ready to take the blow and laugh straight at the stony face of the dark giant.

The harpy got to her feet again, clearly dizzy – and even angrier. With two flaps she was in the air and shot toward the boy. "Your end, boy!" she yelled shrilly.

Before she could reach him, a skeletal male voice echoed through the cave, and a cold breeze wove around the boy. "Stop instantly!"

Kelaino seemed to strike an invisible barrier. She landed several yards away from the boy, which elicited a furious protest and a shrill hiss. But she wasn't the only one. The troll's fist stopped midair – very clearly against his will. Peter was understandably relieved, but also curious.

The voice not loud, but forceful. It reached every niche around them, ringing in his ears, putting him on edge. No, he knew his true danger had only begun. The hairs in his neck rose as the sinister presence he'd felt since arriving approached. The air around him seemed to drop in temperature, and light was shoved aside for the darkness that grew. The harpy had crawled away and the troll shifted from one foot to the other. Even the Goblins seemed to grow nervous.

The shroud of darkness near Peter stepped toward him, echoing through the cave, followed by a second one. The cool high-pitched voice chuckled for a moment – emotionless and hollow, such as Peter had never heard before, and it made him sick. The first time since his kidnapping, a real fear spread through him. All instincts screamed _flee! – _though he wouldn't get three steps away. Only his obstinacy kept his feet planted under him. He would not show fear!

But as the light disappeared, a shiver ran through him. Blackness as dense as factory smoke billowed toward him, played icily around his bare feet and tickling his legs. Peter clenched his jaws to hold back a yelp, heart pounding. Fear – too deep to deny – nearly overpowered him. The urge to retreat grew too strong, but the troll held him by the back of the neck and forced him to remain. The boy tried to break free, but it was no use. The sound of the footsteps drew nearer and panic seized the boy. Whatever this was, it would kill him when it reached him. He didn't know how he knew this, an instinctual knowledge that awoke in him – exactly like the time when he knew to which race Giliath belonged when he first saw him.

Desperately he struggled in the troll's iron grip again, while the cold dry chuckle turned into cruel laughter. The darkness congealed, slowly taking shape, then a figure stepped out of it. Peter recognized the man from his nightmare! Long, ice-grey hair fell over narrow shoulders; the tall body was covered in a black cape and a dark vestment. And now he could see the wizard's face clearly: it was old and full of wrinkles, like someone well over a hundred, but his eyes were ablaze with hunger, glowing like coals, reaching into his soul, the embodiment of age, power and evil. "S'Hadh," Peter whispered, looking into the face of the one who had come to destroy all worlds. The earth beneath his feet trembled again, but Peter didn't feel it. The dark wizard's gaze blocked other senses.

The warlock's gaze traveled from the boys curls to his toes, then his lipless mouth curved into a grim caricature of a smile. Compared to this, Hook's most predatory smirk was warm and inviting. For nearly a minute, the two opposite beings – decrepitude and youth – watched each other, neither speaking.

Finally S'Hadh gave what almost sounded like a sigh, and said calmly: "We have met at last, eternal boy." His falsetto voice seemed to come out of the deepest grave. "You kept ignoring my invitations. You have a worthy talent of escape and some skill in warfare."

Inwardly trembling, Peter met the glowing eyes. "So I've been told." He frowned. "And you will leave or die, wizard! You've invaded my home, and I have much against foul old magicians who think they can push me around – or catch me!"

S'Hadh laughed again, and again Peter thought how much nicer Hook's smirk was, his laughter as well. The warlock's laughter was so mirthless, so full of evil that it sent shivers down his spine. "You are not the first to attempt thus. No, my boy. Many have opposed me – and failed. None were successful. None!"

"Excellent," Peter commented, with some of his old cockiness. "I'd rather be the first."

The wizard looked at the boy askance, and the thin wrinkles over his brow tensed. "No one has ever dared to speak to me this way," he said slowly, and the Goblins stirred, uneasy. "But you have courage, I will admit. But it will not help you." He approached the boy.

S'Hadh's eyes gleamed with a quality that terrified Peter, and he had trouble masking it. But as the warlock lifted one bony hand to stretch it toward him, the boy leaned away, loathing obvious on his face. "Don't you touch me!" he blurted, his voice nearly a whisper.

To his amazement the hand sank, but the old wizard laughed again and bent toward him. "I'll do more than that, boy. I will not only touch only you, but your whole world. And everything I touch is doomed." He sighed again, dismissively. "This is the price I pay for long life and power." He smiled icily. "But I almost regret having to kill you. No one has yet resisted as long as you have." His voice was cool and emotionless, not threatening, only stating fact. And Peter felt ice flowing through his veins. "Keep still, boy, and I promise you will not feel anything."

The old, clawlike hand was lifted again, while the earth rumbled beneath Peter's bare feet. Horror awoke in the boy as the fingers neared. One simple touch of them would kill him, he knew, remembering the words of the prophecy. ' ...And death gives the touch of his hands ...'

Gathering himself to flee, he instantly found himself in the painful grip of several Goblins. "Let me go!" he screamed, wrenching himself nearly free from their grasp, but they were too many – and the troll still held him by the neck and forced him to hold still.

"Give up, boy. You fought bravely, but now … it is over!"

Again S'Hadh's voice washed over him, while his glowing eyes seemed to burn his soul. Peter's heart raced and a cold fist squeezed his stomach. "Why?" he yelled, the fingers only an inch away from him. "If I have to die then tell me why!"

The lipless mouth curved again into that parody of a smirk. "Because you exist," came the simple reply.

Peter knew that he had to gain some time. Hook and his pirates were only minutes away, and he knew that the pirate-captain would figure out what happened when he found the murdered Elves. The boy was certain that the buccaneers were already on their way, along with Thalion. They would back up Hook, he knew. It was only a matter of time that they would arrive. He only had to figure out how to stay alive!

"What can you possibly mean by that?" he asked, already knowing the reason why.

Briefly, something like a frown appeared on the warlock's old face, then surprise. "Hasn't the Elf told you why I am here? Why your death is necessary?"

Peter shook his head – a lie, but it might delay the wizard, who now shook his head. "Giliath, Giliath ... I thought you wiser!" He took a deep rattling breath, sounding an old alarm-clock, and lowered his hand. "Very well, my boy. I think you have earned the right to the facts before you die."

He turned away and indicated the direction deeper into the cave. "All of this – Neverland, the island of eternal youth – is the place of dreams, of hope, of faith, of –" another dry chuckle, "_freedom_. Children tell stories about it, even grownups still believe in it, gaining strength by visiting it in their dreams. And what do they find here? New courage, new faith, new hope, new freedom."

Peter swallowed. "So what do you have against that?" He hated that his voice sounded less than confident and aggressive, but his full concentration was directed on S-Hadh and on suppressing his terror.

The warlock faced him now, his visage a mask of cold rage. The mountain growled anew. "Humans with dreams have strong wills. It's difficult to … direct them. They … bristle against it. And they find the strength to resist … here." He made a circular gesture, meant to take in the whole island. "All this, your realm, only exists because mortals _believe_ in it. And in every one of them is a part of you – Peter Pan, the eternal boy. Children are drawn to you. Grownups remember only in forgotten corners, but they sense you – like a hidden spring from their own childhood. This gives them the vigor, the determination to stand in my way. But when you are destroyed, then nothing remains to renew their hope. And a man or woman with no hope is easy to command.

"Therefore, you must die." His tone was a simple, matter of fact.

Peter dared a glance up to the gallery – hoping against hope to see a tall figure in black clothes or the grey-clad form of an Elf. But the passage remained empty. "And why do you need them so weak, so compliant? What will you get out of it?" he asked, stalling.

The dark wizard laughed again, this time with a hint of an emotion: triumph. "Power!" He spread his arms and threw his head back. Cold wind played around him, the cave shivered and an answering rumble echoed out of the depths of the mountain.

Peter now understood exactly what that meant: The volcano was awakened! "You are one of the mightiest wizards of the world," he said quickly as he met the deepset eyes of his enemy again, trying to keep him talking. "Why is this not enough for you?"

S'Hadh giggled – a sound to make your skin crawl. "The power I now possess is nothing compared to what it will be when I can manipulate other beings, to command and to rule them without their knowledge. This is the way history has often been written!"

"You mean hunger and misery!" Peter hissed reproachfully.

The dark warlock nodded slowly. "Exactly, my boy, you have finally apprehended my purpose. That is why I am still alive. And when I completely rule the human race, and they accuse one another, even start wars, then their misery will lengthen my own life even more. And because they find no hope or faith anymore, no dreams, no strength to fight their fate, they will exist in this state forever," the voice fell to a piercing whisper, "and I will have eternal life!"

Peter heard the old bastard's litany of ambitious ego, and was stiff with horror. He didn't know about war and politics, but the last days had been a taste of what the wizard was planning. And the thought that the whole world Wendy came from would fall into this kind of misery made him sick enough to vomit. If he hadn't been so shocked, he would have disgorged directly onto the wizard's feet.

Coldly satisfied, S'Hadh watched the expressions chase across the boy's face. Peter lived in the wilderness, but he was no fool. He knew exactly what this would mean for his own race. "And that's why Neverland has to be destroyed – and you have to die!"

The icy fist twisted Peter's stomach and he dared a second glance up to the gallery. Time was running short now, that he realized.

A cruel smile creased the wrinkled face. "You await your friends to rescue you?" He saw the Peter's startled expression, and how he tried to mask it – and chuckled. "It's over, my boy. Hope dies at last – and Neverland is hope in its purest form. When all hope and faith are stripped away, one surrenders completely. Exactly as you will!" The cold darkness approached Peter, and read the rising panic. "And now, after you've learned the reasons for your defeat, it is time to go," the wizard said, almost regretfully.

His time was up! Peter knew this. His ears were beginning to buzz, his sight to blur. _'Where is Hook and his men? Where are my friends? Where are Thalion and his Elves? No, no, without them I will die. _He saw the glowing eyes of the wizard above him, the cold breath grazed his cheeks. He beheld the black abyss that was S'Hadh's soul.

"Do not fear. You have impressed me, so it will be painless."

Peter barely heard the voice anymore. Seeing now that no help was at hand, no rescue would come in the last second as it had so often before, he knew that he would die here and now. This destroyed his mask of bravery, and revealed his panic. Frantically he squirmed, trying to get free, trying with all his might to break the troll's grip in his neck, to escape certain death. "Let me go!" he screamed, feeling tears welling up in his eyes.

"Leave something for me, Master!" Peter heard Kelaino's greedy voice like through thick mist.

"You'll get your share – later!"

S'Hadh's answer wasn't any clearer for the boy, who looked horrified at the wizard's raised hand approaching face. With a low whimper he closed his eyes. Done! Finished! The end!

"Why waste his powers? Powers you have more use for?"

The dark voice echoed about the cavern – and Peter's eyes flew open. "Hook!" he gasped, relief washing over him at the sight of the man. He smiled triumphantly at a very surprised S'Hadh. "Now you will learn a lesson, old man!" he almost said, but his face fell when he saw that Hook hadn't come with his men or the Elves – did not even come as a free man, but was "escorted" by another troll and accompanied by several Goblins. _NO! Please no! _the boy thought, while new despair assaulted him. This could mean only one thing -- Hook had been defeated as well. Could it be that Hook was the only survivor … ?

S'Hadh eyed the buccaneer closely, while Kelaino glared. "That'sssssss the mortal!" she screeched and flapped her mighty wings, "the mortal who killed ssssso many of my sistersssss!"

Hook was prodded down the stairway, but he didn't look a bit concerned. He was relaxed, his movements casual, as he mocked: "I was only defending myself, milady. And if your sisters hadn't been so eager for a late night snack, this meeting could have happened very much earlier."

"Where did you find him?" S'Hadh demanded of the Goblin, who raised his helm in deference.

"Near thisss cave, Massster," he hissed, with a very guilty expression.

"Near this cave?" His dark glowing eyes were fixed on the mortal intruder and the metal claw that replaced the man's right hand. "Captain Hook, I presume? How were you able to approach so near?" His tone demanded obedience, and – to Peter's amazement – Hook seemed to don't mind.

"Through the tunnels, obviously," he answered dryly. "Several of your watchmen were considerate enough to take a nap. Might I offer some advice, from one commander to another? Replace them and make an example of them – as a kind of warning for the others who might fall asleep on watch." He sounded like he was chatting with an old friend. He frowned as the troll gripped his injured shoulder and shot a dark glare up to the giant. "Not so rude! Even trolls should know how to treat a guest!"

S'Hadh gave the signal to his underlings to hold Peter tightly, and slowly approached the intruder. "Have I understood you correctly," he asked with the cold courtesy of a well-bred gentleman, "'guest'? Have you lost your mind or just your will to live?"

Hook smiled scornfully. "Don't threaten me. I am the only one who can help you gain complete victory! And you know it."

S'Hadh's wrinkles shifted. "My first conjecture was correct -- you have lost your mind!"

"And you are, I dare say, are too rash," the buccaneer responded almost gently. "To give complete expression to the boy's power that you need to fulfill your plan, you must be strong. Very strong. And you are –forgive my boldness – not … ah … getting any younger. But the brat over there IS eternal youth. The power that keeps him young might help YOU become young again. Is this not so?"

The dark wizard observed the almost bored visage of the pirate, and nodded. "Indeed. How do you know this?"

Hook sneered. "Pan's Elf friend was quite talkative." He shook his head and chuckled. "Long life doesn't mean wisdom. Otherwise, he would have been more careful with this information. After all, he knew that the boy and I are mortal enemies."

Peter listened with growing bewilderment. "Hook?" he asked, "what ... what are you doing?"

The pirate ignored him. "With the boy's power, victory is yours, sir, to reign over all other magicians as well. And become young again – a preferable condition, were I in your place." He paused before he added: "But, regrettably, you can't possess his powers, even now that he is in your hands. For that you need something very special that your servants were unable to find."

S'Hadh straightened, folding his arms. "What game are you playing?" he asked.

Hook knew now that he had the wizard's full attention. Another smile played around his bearded mouth. "No games. It's just that I … am able to help you." He glanced around at the Goblins and then the troll.

S'Hadh understood immediately, and made a surly gesture. "Release him!"

Hesitantly his servants obeyed, observing him with distrust. Hook rolled his shoulders. "Thank you," he said with mocking politeness, and stepped toward the wizard. Instantly several of the Goblins leaned toward him again – the perfect bodyguard. "As I said, sir, I have something that could get you the boy's power. Your influence on the island, on the other hand, has my ship in an icy grip. What say you about a deal?"

All color dropped from Peter's face, as he heard what Hook said. "No," he whispered horrified. "You can't do this!"

The pirate-captain looked at him. "What can't I do, Pan?" he scoffed.

The boy swallowed hard. "We ... we were allies! You said it again and again, and --"

"-- and that I have, willy-nilly, aided you to save my ship. And this is exactly what I have done. Or should I say that you aided me? Without you, I would have never met His Excellency here." He bowed slightly in front of S'Hadh, who acknowledged the Captain's deference with a nod, knowing well the criminal side of the captain. The wizard tried to read the man in front of him, looking for any sign of falseness or trickery, but all he could feel was hatred and loathing.

Peter could only stare at the man. "Then ... then everything was a lie? Fr ... from the beginning?" he stammered; couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Hook smirked cynically, peering at the boy scornfully. "Did you really think I would fight …for you? For you, of all people?"

Tears welled up in Peter's eyes, the only sign of the biting agony of betrayal that shook him. "I ... I trusted you," he whispered. "I was even worried about you!"

Hook started to laugh derisively. "Yes, I know. Such trouble I had to lull you into trusting me! Including wounds on my shoulder and back!" He smirked spitefully, seeing the single tear that escaped the pain in his eyes.

Peter forgot that he had many witnesses of his sorrow, the world had shrunk down to just himself and the man, his heart feeling as though pierced by a long sharp icicle. "Please," he whispered, "it wasn't just a big pretend!"

With cold satisfaction, Hook watched the boy. "You don't know how long I've waited and craved have this picture before my eyes: you – helpless, defeated and in tears! Begging! This alone was worth all the trouble I've suffered through these last few days." With another icy smile he ignored the muted sob, and looked one last time into the shocked eyes of his young opponent, before he turned his attention back to a very observant wizard. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by that ignorant young churl, you need something special to attain the boy's power. How did they quote it? _' ...But if the ally turns in a traitor, and the blade beams toward itself, then the dark one will prevail and lost are light and life ...'_."

His look lingered for a moment on the boy, whose eyes had widened to the size of saucers. "You spoke of trust, Pan, but you didn't trust me with the whole prophecy. Shame on you, speaking of trust and keeping one of the most important part a secret from your own ally. That, or you have been cleverer than I would have given you credit for." He glanced back at S'Hadh, whose glowing eyes betrayed his expectation, while his hand slipped behind his sash. _" ' ...The silver's mighty blade is his demise, forged in the flames of the masters, steeled in the water of the ancient fountain, and fortified with the eldest's breath ...'_," he recited. "Is it possible that this is what those words meant?"

He drew the Elf-sword out of his sash, where it had remained hidden the same way as in Giliath's sash. Its curved blade shimmered like the moon on a star-bright night – and the Goblins and trolls stepped back. Even Kelaino grew nervous. "Isn't that the sword those dwarfs around us searched so desperately for – the reason you knew, sir, that Giliath was the most dangerous of all Elves, because he had it?"

S'Hadh only stared at the lightning blade. There it was – the key to his utter victory, the key to receiving the youth's capacity, and the only weapon that could defeat his evil. And there it was, in the hand of this mortal man who had dared to invade his domain, who had courage enough to search for him and to face him. He pursed his lipless mouth and felt an unwilling respect for this criminal. He shook his head. "My servants have searched for it. And you, a man, stroll into my domain bearing it with you." He reached out for it, but didn't touch it. "_Celeb-Valar_ – the power of the pure silver, forged by Elves to destroy me," he murmured; his black eyes embracing the weapon. "Incredible, these Elves. Masters at producing weapons, even as they love peace." He chuckled hollowly. "And here is the other side of their magic. It can turn to the dark if you are not vigilant – like their wrath during a battle."

His eyes found Hook again. "From whom did you receive it?"

"From Giliath. He gave it to me as I found him. Well, I think he was a bit misled in the end," the pirate mocked.

"What about Giliath?" Peter cried hoarsely. "Still alive?"

The buccaneer glanced at him briefly. "I think he might have joined his forefathers by now, or went to the happy hunting ground, or whatever that eccentric race calls the afterlife. His injuries, you understand?"

Tears blurred the boy's sight again, a lump rose in his throat. It was true -- Giliath was dead! And the fresh wound of his loss sent new pain through him.

S'Hadh had ignored Peter through this exchange, but his gaze fell on the boy again, and he murmured. "And the sword is here, too, more than I'd hoped." His wrinkles re-arranged themselves into a cold smile as he addressed Hook again. "You are more savvy than I'd heard. And unscrupulous – qualities I appreciate."

Hook smirked. "I know!"

Suddenly the dark wizard straightened. "I accept your offer. You cede the sword to me and I will free your ship – and your crew, of course. After all: how is one to sail a ship without a crew?"

The pirate-captain bowed elegantly. "Thank you so much, Your Excellency." He lowered the sword, but kept it in his hand. "Admittedly I do have one condition."

The warlock frowned, while the harpy hobbled nearer, clearly still enraged. "No mortal will voicsssssss any conditionssssss here!" she hissed, while the troll growled, but S'Hadh remained calm.

"And what might this condition be?"

The cruelest, most hateful smile Peter had ever seen now split the pirate's, his enemy's, face. "Allow ME to kill the boy!"

Again the dark wizard frowned, and Peter felt his gorge rising, the knife turning in his insides. "Why? Since this is truly your enterprise, why haven't you already done this? You had plenty of chances since you acquired the trust of an ally," S'Hadh asked slowly.

Hook eyed the skeptical expression of the magician and answered quietly: "If I'd killed him outright, the weather in Neverland would have only grown worse. My ship would be nothing more than splintered planks by now. And I knew from the first that only you, Great One, have the power to free us. So I needed to keep this brat alive in order to find you." He glanced at Kelaino. "And if the crows you sent hadn't been so intent on tearing me apart, we might have met days ago, Excellency."

The harpy gave an offended squawk, scowled at him and stepped behind S'Hadh, who made an impatient gesture toward her. Peter moistened his lips and prayed for this nightmare to finally end. This could only be a nightmare! But then a waft of the awful heat around him, the sweat rolling into his eyes, his hurt feet and the headache reminded him that he was indeed awake – that everything was much too real this time. And this betrayal hurt more than he had ever thought possible, far too much to accept. "But ... you protected Wendy!" he moaned, "several times! And you helped me and --"

"Alas, Pan, art thou truly that naïve?" Hook laughed and shook his head. "Of course played the part. How else should I gain your trust?"

Peter closed his eyes, bowing his head, bitter tears dropping at his feet. He could no longer bear the sight of the man – the man he'd begun to trust. He suddenly remembered that Wendy had warned him about such a possibility. But he, Peter Pan, thought that he had it all under control. What a fool he was! But still it hurt ... finding out he'd been lied to and stabbed into the back.

The dark wizard "stared a hole" into the pirate-captain, attempting to read his soul, looking for _anything_ that would reveal the man's true intention – was he only pretending to offer his service now? But the only thing he could see in the cold blue depths were the red sparks of hate and bloodlust. He laughed quietly. "You are corrupt through and through. I like men like you!" He looked over to the pale boy, and nodded slowly. "I accept. You kill him – with _Celeb-Valar_. If he dies by a human hand in utter betrayal, and – more than this -- by Elf's silver, his influence will be even more potent to me."

Hook nodded. "Very well. Where shall we do this?" His voice was cool and emotionless, like S'Hadh's – and it chilled Peter to the core. They discussed his execution like an interesting battle tactic.

S'Hadh made a quick gesture; a nervous betraying his excitement of finally reaching the decisive step to victory. "My servants prepared the sacrificial altar days ago, just in case the boy and the sword fell into my hands." He laughed shortly, a frigid sound. "That's the problem with magical rituals. Preparations, arrangements, certain provisions must be accomplished to acquire the greatest effect." His attention was now fully on Hook. "You kill him at the altar with the sword, then turn the hilt to me. It will route his departing powers to me. You see, the power of the silver changes to the complete opposite of its intrinsic purpose, if it is used in betrayal."

The pirate lifted a brow. "Fascinating. Now I understand the phrase ' ...the blade beams toward itself ...' Well, it isn't for naught that I am always so careful when facing magic!"

S'Hadh laughed; and this time there was emotion -- amusement. "We have a deal?"

"It is my distinct pleasure, Excellency!" Hook answered, clamped the sword in his claw and offered his left hand to the wizard. "My apologies for not using the correct hand, sir, as it could become a little painful."

The warlock glanced down on the shimmering hook; his face again expressionless. "When this ritual is over and I have all the faculties I need, a wave of a finger will give you a new hand – made of flesh and blood."

Hook's eyes grew, and his expression went from disbelief to … gratitude? There was no denying how much this promise affected him. There was a momentary glimmer in his eyes that was bright enough to light the whole cave. A new hand! No longer crippled ... He swallowed and bowed again. "Thank you, Excellency." His voice sounded oddly rough. "My ship will be at your service when ever you need it!" he almost answered.

S'Hadh chuckled. "A sea-voyage does sound pleasant."

"Betrayer!" Peter whispered, who understood – at last – the full significance of Hook's turnabout. All his feelings now focused into rage. "Dirty liar! Judas! Cheat! Dog! Double-dealer! Traitor! Bastard! Even worms would get sick eating your rotten carcass!" he screamed and the troll had his hands full to hold onto the boy.

Calmly Hook moved to him and gave him a ringing slap. "Shut up, Pan, or I'll happily stuff your mouth!"

The stinging pain brought tears to Peter's eyes, but he raised them defiantly. "You'll have to deal with your sins when your time is up, Hook! Even I know that there is a God you will have to face and He will judge you!" he whispered with shaking voice. "Hell will overtake you and --"

A second hard slap stopped the words, while the captain's hand buried itself in his locks and brutally yanked his head back. "One more word, brat, and I'll cut your tongue out!" he hissed and lifted his metal claw in front of the boy's lips. "I don't think that would disturb the ritual, and I'll have some peace." He cocked his head, while the threatening red gleamed in his eyes. "On the other hand it would be a shame to silence you," his voice fell to a cruel whisper, "then I wouldn't be able to hear you pleading for mercy, and I am SO looking forward to it!"

Peter bit his lips. He knew Hook well enough, having no doubt that any second he would carry out his threat. There were so many insults he wanted to throw into Hook's face, but – for the first time – he didn't dare.

S'Hadh had motionlessly watched the little scene, calculating, measuring, now he addressed the troll. "Take the boy into the preparation room. We will waste no more time. There is still much to do." He glanced at the Goblin-leader. "And execute those who dared sleep during their watch!"

-------------------------

No one noticed the small golden figure that followed the buccaneer through the almost endless tunnels, avoided guards and hid repeatedly whenever necessary. Horrified, Tinker Bell watched what was happening in the cave below. She watched Peter dragged away, while Hook waved after him, mocking, "Don't be afraid, Pan, it won't be long now and it'll be all over! And quickly, too – regrettably!"

The harsh, gloating voice of the pirate awoke a fury in the little fairy. Usually only able to feel one emotion, right now many sensations washed over her -- fear, desperation, anger and shock. Pressing her little hands to her chest she tried to calm her wildly beating heart and to sort out her thoughts. NO! She would not let this happen! She would never stand aside and watching her beloved Peter die! She hadn't raised the boy, watched over him all this time, only to see him killed by the hand of a false friend!

Her golden light turned fiery red, and with all the speed she could manage, she raced through the tunnels – too quickly to be seen by the dark servants of S'Hadh that passed her way. Hook and his entire crew could go to the devil! She had never trusted that two-faced rapscallion! And how right she had been! This cursed villain had stabbed Peter to the back – and would kill him shortly if she didn't bring help very quickly! Like an arrow, she darted the long way back to the tunnel where the fallen Elves were. She hoped desperately that Thalion had returned, because he and his remained soldiers were the only ones who could save the boy now!

Finally she reached the cave of the battle, and there was tall dark-haired Elfish commander. He knelt beside Giliath and listened to the boys' report. The other Elves knelt around him and between them – oh no, those damn pirates! Already ringing shrilly as she approached, Tink sped toward Thalion, who looked up, surprised, and reaching him, she clanged and jingled frantically. The Elf listened closely, and then she saw his gentle face becoming a dark mask. He rose and turned toward the pirates. "Is this true?" he asked in a threatening tone.

Smee, who had seen the fairy approaching like a comet, frowned. "What'ya mean?"

Thalion pointed at the fairy. "What the fey has told me! Has Captain Hook betrayed us?"

The old Irishman clenched his fists, his face reddening with anger. "O' course not! Cap'n Hook is a noble man! He has promised t'is boy his alliance, and he would never break his word!" How dare this … this … _ELF …_ call his commander a liar?

Thalion approached him; his body shaking with rage – a rare sight in an Elf. "Your captain, Mr. Smee, has told the wizard the secret of the weapon that could kill him, has allied himself with the Dark One, and has agreed to kill the boy in a ritual that will give S'Hadh all the power he needs to enslave the world! And as payment your Captain will be given a new hand!"

Shocked, the bo'sun stared up at the Elf. What had Hook done? Never! Behind him his comrades started to murmur. Their captain was hard – sometimes cruel to say the least – but one thing he was never -- a liar!

"ANSWER ME!" Thalion thundered. "Has this been the plan of your captain FROM THE BEGINNING?" The dark eyes of the Elf glowed with hard rage, and Smee thought he could feel the Elf's wrath his soul.

Following his instincts Smee backed up several steps. "I ... I don't know what the cap'n intended to do. He only said that we should wait 'ere and ... and that this sword would be a ... a chance a man only got once in 'is life ..." he stammered, clearly afraid now.

Thalion straightened. "We will follow your captain, and woe him if he has harmed the boy! Neither he nor ANY of you will leave this mountain alive!" He made a sharp gesture to his comrades and gave orders in his language, while the boys looked at each other, fear on their faces.

They all thought of one thing: Peter!

----------------------------

The eternal boy saw the stony altar ahead, and he firmly sat on the fear that threatened to turn him into a quivering heap of jelly. But of course Hook, who stood before him, could see straight through him. It really was strange that his worst enemy knew him better than anyone else.

The small cave was lit by a few candles that stood in a wide circle around the altar – a large stone with a level surface. Iron rings and chains were fastened on one side, while on two other stones beside him there arose a strange and not unpleasant smell from two chalices, a smell he knew he would hate forever. Peter heard a troll come beside him heavily, and he saw no escape – especially now that his hands were shackled together and his feet were bruised and torn.

Still not ready to accept or believe the betrayal, he glanced up at Hook – the man with whom he had fought for time out of mind, who had become his collaborator during the last days. He remembered the morning three days ago when he had awakened in the man's bed, and how they had shared a laugh because of Wendy's half-clad state, Hook's advice about women. He remembered the moment he had regained conscious in the arms of the man – warm and secure. And how he had embraced Hook because he had dreamed the pirate had died. This was fresh in his mind. He really HAD started to trust Hook. Heavens, he even worried when the pirate didn't answer his summons after the battle only two or three hours ago. And now, to learn that he was the target of the biggest pretend, the worst betrayal possible, hurt him dreadfully. Betrayal is a pain that cuts deeper than a sword.

Yes, Peter's memory wasn't the best, but this was a betrayal that hurt too much to ever be forgotten. And if he didn't find a way to turn the tables – like he had so often before – there would be no time left to forget ...

Hook now stood before him, and Peter looked up into his eyes; searching again for a sign that the pirate was only playing a trick on S'Hadh, but he only saw the ancient hatred and loathing. "Why?" he whispered. "Why are you doing this?"

The pirate lifted one brow, while he checked the chains that bound the boy's wrists together. "Do you really not know the answer?" he sneered coldly.

The boy swallowed. "We can free your ship another way! After we have defeated S'Hadh, we ..."

Hook shook his head and sighed, and glanced quickly over to the troll, who watched them intensely. "Pan!" he said impatiently. "You are indeed the most pretentious churl I've ever met. Only you can think that you would never fail. Hell's bells, boy, do you really believe you can defy the mightiest wizard in the whole world? If so, you are not just stupid and foolish, but insane!"

"We had a chance!" Peter murmured. "We still do! Please, Hook. I can't believe that everything we shared in the last days was a lie! You can't --"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do!" the buccaneer snapped harshly. Roughly he dragged the boy toward the altar. "In a few minutes, you're history, my ship is no longer in danger, I have my hand back and I am free of YOU! Can you offer more?"

"It's not just a question of your ship or your hand, but of the survival of all the people of this world and the other!" Peter said urgently. "You've heard what S-Hadh's destiny is. You know what he plans to do to the human race and --"

"And how does that concern me?" the buccaneer sneered, and shoved him roughly onto the altar. For a moment Peter tried to wrestle himself free, but the troll simply pressed him down onto the stone. Peter stopped struggling.

"How does it concern _YOU_?" he gasped, while the chain fastened to his manacles was pulled over his head and were fastened at the iron ring in the stone.

"Yes," Hook retorted, motionless. "Me. Why shall I be concerned about anyone outside of Neverland? They banished me – like they banish everyone who doesn't fit their point of view. They excuse everything but being different!"

"But ... you are yourself human!" Peter cried, feeling despair rising in him; tearing uselessly at the chains. "So there _must_ be a spark of humanity in you and ..."

"DON'T you dare to speak of humanity in my presence, Pan!" Hook shouted, outraged, and shoved his iron claw into the wide-eyed face of the boy, who gasped, startled. Peter wanted to turn away, but the pirate gripped his chin and forced him to look at the hook. "Do you see this, boy? Do you see this? This is what you made me! A monster with iron where flesh and blood and bone should be! Don't you dare to speak of humanity!"

Peter took a shuddering breath and felt – very much against his will – an old guilt awakening. His eyes burned, and he blinked to prevent the tears. Hook spoke truth, as he finally admitted to himself, a truth he had denied for so long. Again he blinked. No! No weeping now! "What about Wendy?" he whispered. "Are you going to kill her as well?"

The pirate snorted, while an odd smile appeared on his face. "Normally, yes. But she is still a child, and in a few years she will grow into a woman, as soon as we leave this cursed sea and this damn island. I'm sure, over time, she will develop an interest in me!"

Peter stared at him, feeling a strange kind of jealously he didn't understand, but it tugged at him. And then he remembered suddenly that Hook suffered from the knowledge that he was not loved. Putting it all on the line, he whispered: "She will hate you forever if you kill me!"

To his horror, the buccaneer simply shrugged. "I care not. Captives have no rights, and I would never expect her to actually care!"

Peter stared at him. "You would really keep her prisoner and ..."

"Such imaginations are refreshing to me, but regrettably time is something that must not be wasted!" the cold high voice sounded from the opening of the candlelit cave.

The boy closed his eyes a moment. They were now burning with the heat, the emotion, the tears. He had hoped to speak with Hook long enough to talk some sense in him before the wizard appeared, but his opportunity was now forfeit. Was it really so impossible to turn this ship around into the wind? Was he truly lost this time?

"Is everything ready?" S'Hadh asked and stepped nearer. He wore a silver-black cape and a long black tunic beneath it, a diadem on his ancient forehead, and he carried a basin in his hands.

"Of course, Excellency!" Hook answered deferentially. He drew the Elf-blade and glanced down at the boy, whose eyes were locked on the shimmering blade. "Ready?" he asked with false courtesy and glowing eyes.

Peter's mouth went dry, and the dreadful feeling of helplessness washed over him again. Nothing was more frightening than to see calamity approaching, with your hand literally bound. "Hook, wait!" he whispered, but was ignored. The boy swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He knew that everything was about to be lost for ever, and so there was only once chance left; an offer he had hoped he would never have to make, but he saw no other way. "Hook, listen to me!" The man's eyes were directed on him, and Peter bit his lips. "I can't offer you a new hand, for that isn't in my power to do, but I can offer you another thing – along with the freedom of your ship."

Hook lifted one brow and scoffed: "And that would be?"

Taking another shuddering breath and ignoring the cold fist that squeezed his stomach again, Peter straightened his small shoulders; feeling more lost than ever before. "Me!" he answered and cursed the fact that his voice sounded so small in this moment. Hook stared at him – and started to chuckle. The boy continued with an awful pressure in his throat: "When this whole thing is over I will surrender to you." The pirate laughed now openly; his eyes shimmered mockingly and triumphantly. "I swear it!" Peter confirmed. "I will give myself into your hand. You can do with me what ever you want, and ..."

He stopped, because Hook was laughing hilariously. "Boy, don't you get it?" he smirked evilly before he bent down to his young opponent and painfully gripped his hair. "I already have you! And it doesn't really matter if you die now by the hand you didn't take, or in several days on my ship! I dare say that the opposite is the case. The sooner you, you little hellion, are dead, the better! And, more importantly, _I will no longer be crippled!_" His voice was nothing more than a hateful hiss now.

"Enough!" S'Hadh looked with shaded eyes on the pale, frightened child, who couldn't hide his fear any longer. "Your time is up, boy. Make the best of it and accept your fate! Captain, would you please start the ritual!" His voice was coldly impatient; betraying his stormy mood and fickle character.

"Of course, sir!" Hook nodded and walked around the stone. "Might you stand close to the altar, so that you can take the hilt quickly when the time has come?"

The dark wizard nodded slowly, bent over the basin, took a deep breath of the incense rising from it, and began to murmur something in a strange language – a language that should never be spoken, as if speech had learned to hate itself. In horror, Peter saw the pirate-captain take the blade in hand and claw, close the eyes for a moment in concentration, and the blade suddenly blazed with light.

Again the boy tore at the chains, wrenching wildly to get free and kicked at the buccaneer, but the troll seized his legs and pressed them painfully down on the altar; pinning him down. Peter's breath heaved now, while mortal fear raced like ice water through his veins, making him tremble.

"It is true!" Hook called in victory; his gaze was fixed on the glowing blade. "The sword gathers its might to fulfill its bearer's desires. And I have only one desire!" He could feel the energy that pulsed into his arms and body, chasing away the fatigue, making room for the combined strength.

"Please Hook! I implore you! Don't do this! You know what it would mean!" Peter begged, full of despair. The chains and the troll's paws held him to the altar.

The pirate's grinning face and the shimmering sword blurred before his eyes, while his whole body tensed. "And with that, my boy, you are fulfilling my second greatest wish!" Hook's voice pierced the horrible buzzing in his ears and the loud drumming of his pounding heart. "You don't know how much I've yearned to have you lying at my feet – whining for your life!"

He lifted _Celeb-Valar_ over his head and Peter knew that a blow from that blade would split him in two. In this moment the thoughts of Neverland and London, Kensington Gardens, Mermaid's Lagoon, of his friends and the girl that had stolen his boyish heart, died away into cold blackness. Panic-stricken, and stiff with mortal fear he could only look at the gleaming blade above him, while he brought out nothing more than a whisper: "Please! Don't!"

Hook brought the blade down with all the force he could muster, and his triumphal shout mingled with the shrill scream of the eternal boy ...

TBC ...

Well, anyone still alive out there - or do you still suffer a shock? I so couldn't resist to twist the tale a little bit. What do you think? Is Hook really the big Judas of anything or does he play "tricky pirate"? I so look forward to your reviews.

Love

Lywn


	31. The Might of CelebValar

Dear Readers,

everyone still curious out there? Yes, I know, this cliffhanger was m-e-a-n. Therfore by dear friend and beta-reader hurried up to edit the next chapter. And here we go... And thank you so much for the super and long reviewes. I am really honored that so many people took so much time to write. Thanks!

**Chapter 30 -- The Might of _Celeb-Valar_**

Thalion was at the head of the troop running through the mountain -- some unwilling and forced, some frantic, all tense. They had encountered Goblins, Impets and other creatures, but these enemies had no chance against the arrows and swords of the purposeful Elves. They weren't even able to sound an alarm.

John looked up at the warrior. All gentility and goodness in his face had vanished, replaced by a puposeful anger. A dangerous aura pulsed around the tall man like an invisible field, and revealed now – for the first time – the ferocity and savagery of his warrior forebears.

As they raced ahead, suddenly the shrill, desperate scream of a voice they all knew echoed through the tunnels, accompanied by the victorious shout of the equally familiar male voice. It sounded through the underground-world and set the mountain shivering. It was a death scream.

As if he had run against an invisible barrier, Thalion halted, shock in his face. "_Neahh!"_ ("No!") he whispered, while all color drained from his face.

John's and Slightly's breath caught in their throats as they realized what they had just heard. "Peter?" Slightly breathed, tears filling his eyes. "Was that ... Peter?"

Thalion didn't answer, and one of his fellows nodded. "Yes," he murmured. "That was he."

"We are too late," another Elf said quietly.

The boys looked at each other – unbelieving, frightened. "I ... I don't believe it!" Curly whispered; his face betraying his horror.

"He ... he can't be dead!" Slightly choked. Peter had always been more than a friend – more like a brother – someone he loved with all his heart as only a child could. He had looked up to him – his leader, his idol. The thought that the boy – who had raised him and been the only 'family' he'd had for years – was now murdered was like a knife in his belly.

"Hook ... Hook did it!" Tootles whispered, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since they had reached S'Hadh's domain hours ago. "He really did it!" John and Nibs exchanged a look full of dismay. They couldn't imagine life without the vivid, merry, brave and cocky boy, whose mood could rule the weather, whose carelessness could drive them crazy and whose willingness to sacrifice himself for his friends had turned him into a leader they would follow to any adventure. As one, the boys turned to the pirates, faces filled with fury They were only children, but their silent pledge of revenge no less threatening than if it had come from grown men. And for a moment the buccaneers grew wary.

Thalion glared into the dim light in front of him. "And Giliath was so certain that ..." He took a deep breath and straightened, bottling up the sorrow he felt rising. He had grown to love and respect the child; he couldn't deny it. He had admired the courage and contagious cheer the boy displayed; the way he bubbled over with ideas, brim-full of energy. He looked at the little fairy beside him; her light was dim and she appeared to be in shock. Gently he offered her his hand where she alighted – only to burst into tears, wrapping her arms around two of his fingers and sobbed her tiny heart out.

Slowly Thalion turned to fix an icy black-eyed look on a very worried Smee. Well, the mortal had every reason to be afraid. One thing you count on – an Elf kept his word. And in this case it would mean the pirates' death. "You and your comrades, Mr. Smee, will atone for the betrayal of your captain!" he said in a low voice.

"Leave them to us!" Slightly hissed, his outraged eyes flashing. "Peter was the only one who took care of us when even our nurses didn't and our parents forgot about us! And he was the one who took us to the Darlings where we found a new family!"

It was that moment the mountain started to shake again. It started deep in the fiery depths and spun higher and higher, until it chased above to the crater of the volcano. A dangerous low grumbling pounded in the humid air – like the growl of a hungry tiger, ready to strike out. Stones dislodged from the rough surface above them, and they crouched next to the walls for protection.

------------------------------

As Peter watched the glittering sword descend, the terror finally broke out of him in a scream, while he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt the air displaced by the blade moving on his face, steeled himself against the pain that would tear him apart, kill him –

- and heard the clang as the forged Elf-silver struck the thick chain that bound him to the altar and easily severed it. Sparks flew and the stone beneath him boomed like a giant drum, as the blade left a deep cleft in it, making it vibrate with the force of the blow. In that moment, S'Hadh roared in fury and surprise, and Peter's eyes flew open in time to see the shimmering blade continue its sweep and plunge into the wizard's body, driving him to his knees.

The basin fell, rattling to the ground. Hook whirled around to the troll holding Peter's legs, and a moment later the dumpy giant turned into a stone. All this only took a handful of seconds. The two Goblins on watch at the doorway dashed at the captain, shouting an alarm in their guttural language.

The pirate cursed savagely – damn, he had hoped to kill them first – ignored the pain in his shoulder, back and upper arm, and turned to Peter, who still lay on the altar and watched numbly. "Need a written invitation, Pan?" Hook shouted impatiently. "Get your absurd self down from there and move! No time to waste!" A troll and another indefinable two-legged creature stormed the chamber, and Hook turned to meet the danger. "Welcome to my parlour, gentlemen!" he sneered. "Here's the first course!" _Celeb-Valar_ gleamed again as he attacked, and once again power seemed to come out of it and into the buccaneer.

Peter blinked into the twilight and tried to sort out his thoughts which were swimming sluggishly through his head. He was still alive! Hook hadn't killed him! And the pirate hadn't betrayed him! Everything the captain had said and done had been a huge pretend to convince the warlock he was allied with him – to trick him in the end.

"Peter!" Hook's shout reached through the haze that had replaced the terror. "Wake up! MOVE!"

Life returned to the boy. Even though he felt still chilled and sick, he sat up, swung the legs over the side and slipped from the altar. His knees felt as though they were filled with pudding and almost didn't support him. He felt the tears that rolled down his cheeks, and hastily he dashed them away, mortified. There, coming directly at him, was ugly creature with fangs and deadly claws. Instinctively, Peter balled his hands and bashed the living nightmare on the chin with his manacled fists. This resulted in a hollow sound and a pain that exploded in his arms and shoulders, while the beast seemed not even effected. In the next moment, the deadly sword that seemed empowered with a life of its own ended the creature's existence.

Hook glanced down at the wizard lying motionless next to the altar. He fully intended to be sure that this enemy was really was dead, but the approaching noises from beyond this room made it clear that time was running short. Too short! Hook shoved the sword into his hook, gripped the boy's arm and dragged him out of the small cave. The tremors which made the mountain tremble were lessening, but in the main cavern, all hell had broken loose. From all sides furious roars, hisses and snarls were heard, as the warlock's diverse army came to their master's aid. Should they reach the man and the boy, no power on earth would save them.

Hook looked wildly about. "They are coming from all sides!" he bellowed, and Peter, who was beginning to feel more normal, made a gesture with his bound hands toward the gallery.

"When ... when we reach the g-gallery we c-can try to escape through ..." he stuttered, but couldn't end his sentence. Hook had realized that the boy was still too shaken to think straight, bent down, wrapped his left arm around the boy's hips and threw Peter over his shoulder. Pain told him his injuries were re-opened, and he moaned as he straightened and raced toward the rough stairs and then ran up.

Behind him the eerie screams changed into a savage chorus that spurred him on. "You will not escape me!" the hateful screech of the harpy sounded from directly above, and Hook rolled Peter from his shoulder under the protecting roof of the gallery.

"Stay there!" he barked. Then he whirled around, took _Celeb-Valar_ in his hand and spread his arms in a characteristic posture, while he proudly threw his head back. "Just come here, m'dear! I am here to escort you to your sisters, who are waiting for you in hell!"

The daughter of the north-wind screamed and stretched her deadly claws toward him, ignoring the dangerous shimmer of the Elfish sword. The pirate showed her his teeth, waited until the last moment and leapt aside just as the talons were about to sink into his flesh. The harpy collided with the stone wall, fell, and did not rise.

"Those who can't fly should walk!" Hook chuckled blackly. Peter had risen and peered at his left leg where a huge bruise was forming – a 'gift' from Hook, then took off running. "This way, Hook!" he called, even though he wasn't sure. He did know it was the opposite direction from where they'd brought him nearly an hour ago.

"I hope you know what you're doing, boy!" the pirate shouted back, and followed him. Together they ran down the gallery, avoiding stones and cudgels thrown their way, arrows and lances thrust at them. Suddenly they faced three Duergars, another Goblin and a troll. The black dwarfs lifted their pickaxes threateningly while the Goblin drew his sword. The troll growled dangerously and spread his arms to prevent them from fleeing. Hook turned to Peter, lifting his arms to offer him better access. "Take my sword!" He knew he would need help against five enemies.

The boy took the hilt of Hook's large sword in both hands, yanking it from the sheath, and not a moment too soon. The Duergars attacked and Peter managed to kill two of the ugly creatures, despite his chained wrists. Hook left the smaller creatures to the boy, and kept his eyes on the troll, whose stupid expression turned into bewilderment when he saw the glistening Elf-sword. This hesitation was enough for the buccaneer to finish the giant creature off. He threw a glance over his shoulder and saw Peter killing the last dwarf. But the Goblin was still alive, and he leapt at the boy with his sword.

"DOWN!" the pirate screamed. Peter fell instantly and the blade flew past him and hit the Goblin in his black heart. Hook darted forward and pulled retrieved the weapon, clamped it again into his hook and jerked the boy to his feet again. Behind them, dozens of Goblins were running toward them.

"Quick, Pan, or we'll both get it!" Again they ran together along the gallery and dodged into another tunnel that opened to their left.

"They're following us!" Peter panted, catching up.

"Of course!" Hook growled. "What did you think they'd do?" They raced along the passage illuminated by the same eerie red light seen everywhere near the volcano.

"Where are the others?"

"Hopefully close by!" came the answer, which caught Peter by surprise.

"You came alone!" he gasped. They reached the end of the passage and ran into another one.

"As you've often proven, boy, one can get through where many cannot," Hook jibed.

Peter groaned. "Yes – on your ship, which I know like my own pocket, but--"

"Think you not that baiting the tiger is a great adventure? Isn't that what you live by?" the pirate laughed.

The boy scowled, hearing his own words thrown back in his face while he worked to keep the man's sword before of him and his feet under him. There was no time to pause and return it to the sheath. "I never knew you were listening, Hook!"

The noise of their pursuers grew louder. Hook snarled deep in his throat. "Don't talk; RUN!"

---------------------------------------

As the shivering mountain again stilled, the pandemonium grew. Thalion sensed that something odd didn't fit the picture. "_Tula_ – come!" he ordered sharply and charged forward. The pirates obeyed – albeit somewhat reluctantly – as several of the Elves threatened them with their swords. They turned down another passage where the noise was louder, and Thalion stopped so suddenly that two of his warriors almost collided with him. He lifted a hand for silence. Then he slowly stepped toward an opening which the noise seemed to emanate. Carefully, he moved his face to the side to peer around the corner.

They had reached a huge cavern. A gallery spread before him, and a rough stair led down to a lower level. Packs of Goblins, Impets, Duergars and other nightmarish creatures were stampeding up the stair and running along the gallery – away from the allies. A giant harpy crouched nearby, seemingly in a state of shock, and fell down.

With the invisible caution only an Elf can carry off, Thalion crept into the gallery and peeked between stones down to the lower level. There more servants of the warlock ran about, while a giant troll carefully carried a long dark form away and vanished into another tunnel. The commander knew instantly who the motionless figure must be the troll held in his arms: S'Hadh!

His first impulse was to take all of his men and rush in, danger be damned, and kill the dark wizard. But it would have been suicide. Too many factors opposed such a foolish attempt. They were outnumbered – especially with their losses. He didn't know how many more guards were in the other tunnels around them, and who might attack them from behind. And he didn't know what had just happened here!

Taking another look, he searched for the corpse of the boy or Hook, but couldn't find either. Suddenly Tink was beside him, signaled him to listen and glanced down in the mighty cave. Both understood some of the guttural language the Goblins used – and looked at each other, stunned.

Hastily Thalion returned to his men, while the fairy darted exuberantly between the boys, trying to contain the wild joy she felt and that threatened to shatter her into a million pieces. Slighty's eyes widened, while Nibs gasped.

"Peter's alive?"

"Hook trapped S'Hadh!" Curly blurted out as he listened Tink's cheerful jingling.

John's spectacles were again on their way down his nose. "WHAT?"

Tootles cheered out loud, and Slightly quickly clapped his hand over his friend's mouth, even though he wanted to join the wild outburst. _Peter alive!_ He sent a quick prayer of thanks toward the heaven.

John swallowed. "Is it true?" he asked Curly, who nodded eagerly.

"Yes! Hook was only pretending treachery, and struck S'Hadh with that special sword, then he freed Peter!"

Slightly shook his head. "Miserable old bastard!" he laughed, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. "Miserable, old, tricky codfish! He tricked us all!"

"And surely Peter as well!" Nibs sighed.

"I am going to hug him for that!" Tootles sniffled and embraced his friends.

"Where are they now?" Curly asked Tink.

Thalion, who had also felt the wave of relief washing over him, answered: "On the run." His gaze found Smee, who had folded his arms before his barrel chest, and beheld the Elf with a brow lifted sternly, one foot tapping expectantly. The Elf cleared his throat. "I was ... um … somewhat premature, Mr. Smee!" he admitted and only those who knew him recognized his difficulty in apologizing to the pirate, who was (in his eyes) so far "beneath" him. He took a deep breath. "I beg you and your comrades for pardon."

Smee grumbled something in his beard and spat (the other direction) before he pointed toward the huge cave. "Well, d'ya t'ink we orta back 'em up by cleaning up in t'ere?"

A smile spread over the Elf's face, while he lifted his sword. "My thoughts exactly. And we must follow S'Hadh before his servants get him to safety! He is weakened and wounded. This may be our only chance!"

-----------------------------------------

Peter's sore feet flew, exactly as Hook's booted ones. Over and over again they fled down other passages and tunnels, up a ramp, down some debris. Hook remained at the boy's side and supported him whenever he was about to stumble. Peter's still-manacled hands were a hindrance during this wild flight, and several times it was only Hook's quick reaction that prevented a hard fall. There was no time to replace the pirate's sword. Any wasted moment could mean certain death. Their only chance now was to outrun their pursuers. And this also allowed Peter to remain armed.

Hook was bathed in sweat – it ran into his eyes, stuck the shirt and waistcoat to his back, burned in his injuries. His had runner's ache in his side, and his boots seemed too small. Gritting his teeth he continued to run. For a moment he envied Peter in his light clothes, a glance at the boy showed that he suffered, too. His glance found the bare feet of the boy and saw that they bled. _'Why doesn't he fly?'_ Hook thought. _'He must be in great pain. Why does he do this to himself?'_ But he had not the breath to ask those questions aloud. But why should he even care about pain in the boy's face and sore feet?

Finally, the voices behind them seemed to fall behind until they died away. Man and boy trotted through another small cave and stopped for a moment, panting vigorously, too exhausted to run again. Above them in the wall was an opening, only big enough to allow a man through if he crouched. They exchanged a quick glance and nodded. This cavern was well hidden and would offer them some protection and allow them to rest and to regain strength. They had reached their limits.

Hook took his sword from the boy, slid it into the sheath, and together they started to ascend the rough wall. The pirate pulled himself up with his metal claw and his hand; holding _Celeb-Valar_ between his teeth. Almost there, he saw that Peter was having difficulty climbing with his bound hands and his injured feet. Sighing he offered him his hand.

For a second Peter looked at the slender, strong hand with the emerald-ring, and heard himself asking cruelly if Hook was "ready to lose the other one." Guilt smote him; nonetheless, he gripped the strong fingers of the captain and was pulled up. They crept into the little stony chamber, listening to discover if their pursuers had found their tracks, relieved when they heard nothing! They crawled deeper into the cavern and sat down.

Peter had pulled up his knees to his chin, wrapped his arms around them and had buried his face between them. He was used up. He never knew that someone could be as tired as he was now and not be dead. The mere thought of moving was anathema. His lungs and sides hurt as though spikes were driven into them. If only the air didn't smell so bad! He thought it possible that this smell of smoke and rotten eggs would linger in his nose and ooze from his pores for ever. His feet hurt as if they'd gone through a meat grinder, his limbs trembled and sweat soaked him. He sensed he was close to tears and fought them, even as he yearned for one thing he couldn't have right now: one solid week of peaceful sleep! Oh, and before that, a whole lake to satisfy his thirst. His mouth was dry and the tongue stuck to his palate.

Hook suffered likewise. He leaned his back and head against the rough wall of the cavern, his legs spread out before him, his arms lying beside him as he caught his breath, feeling his murderous thirst and the stinging of his unhealed wounds. He didn't need to have a look to know that it was not just sweat trickling down his back. The leather harness was even more irritating because of the heat. The wooden cuff on his stump seemed to weigh a ton, and the living nerves pulsed and itched under the scars as if the limb were growing out of its wooden prison. Hook's head ached and he felt dizzy. He was anything but a milquetoast, but even he had reached his limits. His limbs quivered, his feet hurt and he considered a moment simply slicing the boots off. But he knew that this would be very foolish. His unprotected feet would soon look like Pan's.

How long the two enemies sat, side by side, they couldn't tell. Here, deep under a mountain, above the simmering lava, sunlight and starlight far away, time was not measured. It was Peter who finally lifted his head, wiping the sweat from his face with trembling hands, and examined his feet. They were awful to behold, and he wished with all his heart that he could fly again. Thinking again of traversing those stones wrung a silent moan from him. But he knew he had no other choice. He had, at last, seen the reason why he couldn't fly here anymore – and wouldn't until this adventure was finished. It was S'Hadh's grim power that destroyed Peter's happy thoughts, along with the pain from sore feet and abraded wrists from the manacles and every bone aching.

The eternal boy lifted his head and glanced at Hook in the dimness. The pirate looked terrible – exactly like Peter felt. His eyes were closed, but the boy could see that he, too, was sweaty, filthy, exhausted. Hook's panting had slowed, and Peter grew thoughtful. For the first time since Peter had known the buccaneer, every impulse toward aversion and hate was silenced. Hook had risked his own life to save him.

"Thank you, James!" he said quietly.

The pirate-captain lifted his heavy lids, head turning toward the boy. "I beg your pardon?" he asked incredulously.

The boy smiled a little. "Granted. And I said, thank you – for saving my life."

With great effort, Hook straightened, massaging his knees, still trembling from the exercise. "If circumstances had been otherwise, I would have danced on your grave," he grumbled, and Peter chuckled.

"You can't stop, can't you?"

The pirate lifted one brow. "Can you slip out of your skin?"

A shrug was Peter's answer. "Both of us have done that in the last few days," he said after a while. He saw the dark spots on the stone behind Hook. "You're hurt!"

Hook made a face. "Nothing dramatic. Only those scratches re-opened."

"Scratches?" Peter repeated and shook his head. "And Wendy calls me flip!" He bent toward the buccaneer. "Let me see," he offered, before he was even aware of it.

Hook frowned. "You haven't the gentle fingers of our little storyteller nor --" He stopped as Peter carefully pulled the overcoat off and the waistcoat from his wounded shoulder, took the collar of the shirt in both hands and simply tore it open. "Hey!" the pirate-captain protested with a snort.

The boy grinned. "Easy, Hook. You weren't going to keep it anyway." He observed the soaked bandage and shook his head. "I probably can't help you. I'd have to tear your shirt into strips to remake the bandage."

The buccaneer made a face. "And you're telling me this now – after you ruined my shirt?"

"There wasn't anything to ruin anymore," Peter commented, grinning, replacing the coat and vest. For a long moment each looked into the other's eyes, and both were amazed to see neither loathing nor hate.

Then Hook's gaze fell to the boy's bound hands, and took the Elf-sword. "Stretch your arms toward me as far as possible."

Bewildered Peter asked, "Why?"

"You want to be free of those chains, don't you?" the captain asked impatiently and the boy nodded – only to get wide-eyed as he saw what the pirate intended to do.

"What if you miss?" he gasped.

Hook nodded toward his metal claw. "Then we'll share more than a storyteller," he stated dryly, and in the next moment the sharp blade cleaved between his wrists and cut through the chains, then the manacles. Little sparks flew up and the iron fell with a rattle. "Little fool!" the pirate-captain grumbled, as he saw the startled gaze of the boy, "haven't you learned yet that I never miss?"

Peter rubbed his chafed wrists in great relief. "So why am I still alive after all our encounters?" he asked cockily.

A low snort escaped Hook. "Because you are so damn quick to take to the air!"

"So you do miss!" the boy teased, sitting beside the buccaneer and against the wall. Hook stared at him a moment, then leaned back as well. "Keep it up, churl, and you'll get your next thrashing!" he growled, while he closed his eyes.

The eternal boy turned his head toward the man beside him. "And by the way, you didn't need to hit me back there!" he grumbled, unaware that he rubbed his right cheek where Hook had slapped him, still redder than the left one.

"No?" the man snorted and glanced back at him. "I think they were absolutely necessary. And not only because of all the impudent insults you threw in my face!" His voice was quiet and the reprimand didn't sound nearly as hard as he intended.

Peter gave him a short smile. "Are you waiting for something else?"

Hook chuckled a little bit. "No. After all I know you quite well."

"Really?" the boy retorted with feigned amazement, then grew serious. "This whole adventure hasn't been very fair," he murmured and stared into the dim light that fell through the small entrance of the cavern.

Hook turned toward him, favoring the burning shoulder. "What do you mean? Me pretending to be on S'Hadh's side?"

Peter nodded and looked back at him. "Why didn't you give me some sign of your real intentions? Some hint it was all a trick? That was really cruel!"

Hook shrugged, rewarded with new twinges. He gritted his teeth before he answered: "Those nightmares certainly have the senses of the Elves. I couldn't risk them seeing through you if you weren't scared anymore."

Peter lowered his head. The memory of those awful moments when he was sure that Hook had betrayed him, mere seconds from death, were nearly too painful to visit. Never before in his life had he been so terrified as in those moments. Even when the pirate was tearing him with his metal claw at the Black Castle, and later aboard his ship, as he lay at Hook's feet, the boy hadn't felt fear as he had in those minutes on the altar. Pushing those memories aside, he lowered his head to hide the tears welling up in his eyes from the buccaneer.

But it was useless, because again the man could see straight through him. "You really thought that I had betrayed you!" he stated and Peter nodded. Suddenly he felt Hook's strong fingers under his chin as the pirate lifted his head and looked him in the eyes. "One thing you must always remember, boy: I may be a pirate, a criminal and a murderer, but I will _always_ keep my word, and I will _never_ turn traitor. We made an agreement, Pan, and on this I'll stand to the very end – however it turns out!"

Peter searched his foe's eyes – and saw only open honesty in those blue depths. Hook meant, as always, every single word he said! He took a deep breath. "I'll try to remember that," he murmured, and the man released his chin.

He leaned back again and tried to find a more comfortable position. For many moments, neither said anything, and Peter had finally relaxed a bit, when Hook suddenly smirked, "You were certainly in a blue funk!"

Indignantly, the eternal boy frowned. "I am never in a 'blue funk,' Hook!"

The pirate laughed quietly. "Indeed you were! I recognize mortal fear when I see it, and you, my boy, were full of it!"

Peter straightened. "That. Is. Not. True!"

Hook closely observed the boy's face, seeing where tears had tracked the dirt on his cheeks. He was still pale, his eyes red. "You were afraid, Peter," he said without any mockery. "The traces are still obvious –and that will not change quickly." He cocked his head, as the boy stubbornly pressed his lips shut, and smiled. "And your fear was completely normal – and something of a relief to me. There were times I thought you incapable of fearing for your life."

Peter gave him a strange look. "What do you mean?"

The pirate took another deep breath – the air really smelled foul – and said with unusual frankness, "Every time I had you in deep water, you confronted me with cockiness, arrogance, that stubborn pride. Yes, sometimes you were uneasy, but you seemed not to have the capacity for fear. Many times I wondered if you were even human. But this has changed. I saw it in you the first time I found you in the woods and you woke up on my lap. And moments ago, as you lay on that stinking altar, you finally understood what 'death' means. And you feared for your life!"

Peter swallowed hard, embarrassed. "It wasn't just me whose life was at stake, but my friends, too! Blast it, all of Neverland and Wendy's world would have been destroyed, and --"

Hook was shaking his head, and interrupted him gently, "No, Peter. As that blade rose above you, your thoughts weren't with your friends – or the worlds. No. In that moment you only thought of one thing." He held the boy's gaze with his own, until Peter suddenly looked away; clearly ashamed. It was the first time since Hook knew the boy that he avoided his gaze, a kind of confession in itself. "Don't be dismayed," the man said quietly, and laid the flat of his hook on the boy's arm. "There is no shame in despair at such a hopeless situation."

Peter's face flushed before he deftly changed the subject. "What do you think? Is S'Hadh dead?"

Peter didn't fool the pirate. Hook knew the boy was too proud and stubborn to admit and more than he already had. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I put the blade through his chest, but there was no time to be sure. Perhaps he is dead. If he were a normal man I wouldn't doubt it for a second. But he is, after all, a powerful wizard. His magic might have saved him." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "On the other hand, I hit him with the only weapon that could defeat him."

Peter wrapped his arms around his knees again and looked back at Hook; curious now. "How did you know about that? Did Giliath really tell you?"

Hook nodded. "Yes, he inducted me into the secret of the weapon. And I had to learn that you left out a certain – and vital - part of the prophecy!" He gave him a stern look, and Peter (oh wonder) had the sense look sheepish.

"Sorry!" he murmured. Hook's jaw dropped. Had the boy really apologized? He quickly clapped his mouth shut, imagining what he must look like. Suddenly the boy glanced at him, eyes turning hopeful. "You said Giliath told you about the sword and the prophecy. Was he still alive when you left him?"

The pirate nodded, hesitating. "Yes, but he was badly hurt. I don't know … if he survived. Two of his own were caring for him." He sighed. "I don't know if he'll make it, Peter."

The boy lowered his head. "Well, he is an Elf," he said slowly. "And a healer. If he could help all of us the way he did, then maybe he can fix himself."

It was more wishful than realistic thinking, Hook knew, but curiously, he didn't want to dash the boy's hopes. He himself didn't believe that the warrior would survive. If Giliath had been a man, he would have been dead before he was found. Hook felt Peter's eyes on him. "What?"

"How did you know the black wizard wouldn't simply kill you on sight? How did you know that he would deal with you?"

A proud smirk appeared on the pirate's face. "You want to know, eh? Well, Pan, you're not the only one who can be clever!" Peter almost laughed, but waited for the buccaneer to go on. "I suspected that he wouldn't be able to touch the Elf weapon that could kill him, and I was right, seeing that neither he nor any of his servants reached for the sword as I presented it. And I think I know why: Giliath told me that Elves include some of their magic in their weapons when they're forged that made them quicker, deadlier than human weapons. And S'Hadh belongs to dark powers – ergo the complete opposite of the Elves – making him incapable of touching something from them." He grinned. "It was a slim chance, but – as you see – it worked!"

"You knew he would need you to finish the ritual," Peter thought aloud. "And then you had him close, where you wanted him, in front of the sword, why you asked him to move to the other side of the altar, to make a better target."

Hook nodded. "Aye! I was able to attack him and free you in one." He rubbed his burning eyes. "I remembered your warning your nightmare: 'Don't come near him from behind'. Well, I do prefer to face an enemy directly." He chuckled, and Peter shook his head, looking astounded.

"Hook, I … it … you … you're amazing!"

"Don't!" the man growled, surprised by the soft joy that spread through him, very much against his will. "You'll see how 'amazing' I am when this alliance his over, when you're hung from that!" He lifted his hook.

But the boy was thinking of something else. "He offered you a new hand, made of flesh and blood, and had the power to do it." He bit his lip. "When I heard that, I thought that nothing in the world could change your mind."

Hook lifted the metal prosthesis and contemplated it. Even after all that time he sometimes had phantom pain, when living nerves would have him to believe the hand was still there, only injured. There wasn't a day without some sort of pain. He had said something in the ritual-chamber that he hadn't dared admit before: that from time to time he saw himself as a kind of monster, capable of monstrous things, because a part of him wasn't human anymore. His actions were a mirror of what the claw represented. The very thought of being _whole_ again, without pain, had indeed shaken his intentions for a fleeting moments, until he remembered something important that was still left in him: his word of honor! He had not only promised himself as the boy's ally, but had given his word do a dying man. And one thing Captain James Hook would _never_ do, even if it cost his life let alone a hand, was break his word!

"It ... was tempting," he whispered, "even if I don't believe that S'Hadh would have kept his part of the bargain. But still the prospect ..."

He hushed and Peter cocked his head. "Why, Hook?" he asked quietly. "Why not? You were on the threshold of everything you wanted – killing me, saving your ship and getting a real hand ..."

The pirate-captain took a deep breath. "On the other side, the victory of evil – and the doom of the human race." He looked at the hook as if he was seeing it for the first time. "A whole world for a hand," he murmured – and let his arm drop, sighing deeply. "No, Pan! The price was too high; even for me! I am a criminal, a murderer, and many have called me a 'devil'. But I am not such a monster as to condemn all of our race to inevitable torment and death. Besides, a gift so personal, from someone as evil as that? Bound to go badly. And I'm reminded of a certain serpent offering some fruit to a lady."

Peter watched the man's expression closely and saw the pain, sorrow and resignation on the his face. Something tugged at the boy's heart. For a long moment his pride fell aside, and acting on instinct he laid one hand on the pirate's arm to comfort him. Hook met his new look and lowered his gaze. "If I had entered in this 'contract', I _might_ have gotten a new hand – and would surely have lost my soul. I will burn in purgatory after my death, this I know, but not in hell."

Uncomprehending Peter frowned. "Where is the difference?"

James Hook smiled for a moment. "If you are sent to purgatory, then there is always hope for redemption. But if in hell you'll be lost for ever. Only the worst sinners – such as those who have allied with the devil – are there."

Not completely understanding what Hook meant, Peter squeezed the buccaneer's arm softly. "You will not go to this ... this ... to this everlasting fire! Not you!" He saw the sad smile of the man, and tried to cheer him up. "Hey, even Wendy thinks that behind that pirate is a good man."

_Wendy!_ He hadn't thought about the girl since he'd decided on the showdown with the wizard, and in the sudden memory of her sweet face, eyes, lips, he felt some of his sorrow drifting away. He almost mourned. The girl had far too much influence on him – but it felt so damn _good_! And then Peter's declaration that she indeed did see in him a man, and not a monster, lifted his mood. "She really said this?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Peter shrugged. "Not directly. But she wouldn't be concerned if she loathed you. And she is worried. I heard what she said to you when she said good-bye."

Hook observed the boy closely. "Jealous, Pan?"

A smirk was his answer. "Nope! No reason for it! After all she gave me her thimble."

"Yes," Hook nodded, and a mischievous grin on his lips. "But not a kiss!"

"There's no difference between a thimble and a ..." With a click Peter snapped his mouth shut. By the dust of the fairies, had he really admitted this not only to himself, but to Hook as well? Did he admit that he, Peter Pan, the eternal boy, had received a kiss -- and given one? He remembered very well his defiant reaction in the Black Castle after Tink had torn at his hair to pull him away from Wendy's kiss ... ergh, thimble!

The pirate started to laugh – only to press his hand before his own mouth. Alas, they were deep in the enemy's domain, on the run, and not on his ship during a sunny afternoon, talking and drinking tea! Tea ... a kingdom for a decent cup of tea! He cleared his throat. "Well, even if our pretty madcap does think me human, perhaps you shouldn't."

Peter leaned back again; grinning. "Not even in my dreams!" he teased.

"Don't think too highly of me now, boy, because I rescued your sorry hide! When this is over and we both manage to survive, you will face the old James Hook again."

The boy chuckled. "Of course! You'll be happy to gut me and send Wendy off the plank." He looked at the man again, who stared ahead with an odd expression on his face – almost one of shock. "You wouldn't harm her!" Peter stated with new revelation. Hook lowered his head, shaking it slowly – now moaning for real. _'Oh, what a cruel, evil pirate I am!'_ Peter couldn't help himself now, but giggled. "You like her!"

Hook raised his head, "It's difficult _NOT_ to like her!" he murmured, and as he heard the triumphant cackle from the boy, he turned his head away – deeply embarrassed. And there he saw the Elfish sword that lay beside him. "What the devil ..." he began, picking it up. He blinked in surprise.

"What?"

"It ... it looks older now!"

Immediately he had the boy's attention. "Let me see!" Hook showed him the weapon, and Peter took it carefully in his hands. The blade had lost its luster and several dark spots had appeared on it – almost as if it were rusting. "Odd!" the boy wondered.

"Giliath said that _Celeb-Valar_ enfolds its whole might only one time to fulfill its bearer's greatest wish," the pirate thought aloud.

" '_Celeb-Danar'_?" Peter asked.

"_Valar_," Hook repeated, emphasizing the consonants. "Giliath told me that the great weapons are named, to give them additional strength. _Celeb-Valar_ is the name of this sword. It means 'silver-might'." He shook his head. "Naming a weapon. Tsk. Elves!"

Peter grinned at him. "Why? You call your big cannon 'Long Tom'."

"Not I. It was the smithy that forged the cannon," Hook corrected.

"But still, it has a name!" the boy retorted, smirking.

Hook rolled his eyes. "Enough!"

"Why? Can't take it?"

"How I would love to give you another whack!"

They looked at each other – and chuckled. It was the first time that Peter had teased him without being malicious and the first time Hook hadn't meant his threat. Then the boy leaned back against the rock; sighing again. "I do hope Giliath will be all right. How bad was he?"

The pirate relaxed as well; he certainly needed the rest. "He was wounded in the side and at the head. And he had fever." He glanced at the boy; his blue eyes turned into a stormy grey. "Why didn't you stay where I ordered you to stay?" he asked, suddenly growing irritated as he remembered the reason for this last rescue. "Why didn't you obey?"

"That's not the way I ..." Peter stopped, and decided to admit the truth. He owed Hook this much. After all the man had faced horrid danger and dangerous temptation only because he, Peter, hadn't listened to him. "I heard shouts and knew that they were in trouble. So I ran to help." He stared into the dark twilight. "It was a trap. The Goblins ... they were too many. Several of them had beaten Giliath down, and I saw I could prevent them from killing him. He ordered me to flee, but he needed help. Then they overpowered me, too, and ... and forced me to watch them stab him." He swallowed. "Watching a friend dying before your eyes … I would never wish it on anyone."

The buccaneer snorted. "You are so transparent, boy. All anyone has to do to catch you is to capture one of your friends, and Master Pan comes waving the flag to the rescue, only to stumble into the trap."

Peter smirked. "You weren't very successful at it yet."

Of course Hook knew the incident to which the boy referred and made a face. "Correct. It seems to me you've stretched your luck."

Peter straightened, and thrust his thumb at this chest. "No – I am the best there ever was!"

The pirate stared at him – and closed his eyes with a sigh. "Lucifer's mother, save me from this impertinent churl!"

That made Peter, finally, break out in a laugh ...

TBC

Well, I hope that suited all youre tastes. Next chapter will be full of new surprises, because - of course - the whole battle isn't over. And there are still the other group of allies outside of the Mount of No Return.

Please, please review

Love you all

Lywhn


	32. If enemy helps enemy

**Chapter 31 – If enemy helps enemy ...**

Since nearly all of S-Hadh's servants were hunting the two fleeing allies, there were only a few Goblins and the impaired harpy remaining in the gallery. Thalion knew that now was the ideal time for a surprise attack. Getting a good grip on his sword, he signaled the attack.

With an unworldly inhuman howl, he leaped from concealment and cut down the first Goblin lingering in the gallery. Kelaino, still fighting the effects of her collision with the wall, turned to look at him, and rose into the air. "_Ndengina ta_ -- kill her!" Thalion ordered, and three of his warriors released arrows, but the harpy was surprisingly swift, and vanished down one of the tunnels.

Growling oaths, Thalion turned his attention to the enemies below and bolted down the rough stairs, the rest of the mismatched army following.

The battle was brutal and short. In moments, the Goblins were dead or had fled. Following this, the allies had a few moments to themselves. Thalion sent several of his warriors into the other tunnels to look for exit routes, and others (pirates and Elves) kept watch. The commander turned to see who was injured, but – thank the Light – no one was badly hurt. Same for the boys – even Tootles. Thalion knew that he had to look out for the larger boy, who sat by himself on a stone, a grim expression on his face, but – to his credit – never uttered a whimper. Nibs had a wound on his left arm and Slightly was bandaging him, and John cared for a limping Smee, and Curly looked after a slash suffered by Frank McFurthen, one of the pirates.

Tinker Bell flew from one to another, distributing her magical fairy-dust wherever she could, for it had healing virtue. Several of the pirates had deep wounds, and it was finally up to Smee to patch them up.

Thalion sighed. The fact that they penetrated all the way to the center of the enemy's domain was surely a miracle, but the price had been high. Giliath's entire contingent had fallen under the foe's hand, and the healer/warrior was, at this moment, more dead than alive. Thalion poured himself into the _Tirnion_, along with his friends, and sent him away together with the other injured pirates. Five of the buccaneers and two Elves had accompanied him, as well as the surgeon, who, it seemed, "did not know the difference between a jab and slash," Thalion murmured to one of his men, watching the man work.

But what did the humans say – a_ sparrow in the hand is better than … two pheasants on the roof? _Well, half of a doctor was better than no doctor at all. He could only hope that the other group reached a secure place. He didn't know how they'd fared, because after he had sent them away, a completely desperate fairy had arrived jangling about the betrayal of Hook. Thank the Maker S'Hadh had been as fooled as she was!

He mentally shook his head. The man's thorough deception of S'Hadh was well nigh incredible, demanding the respect of the Elfish commander. His opinion of the buccaneer leaped upward. The man wasn't wholly evil, as he had first thought. He was bitter, yes, but deep inside beat a brave heart, and one approaching _good_, and Thalion was convinced that Hook could be a truly good man if given the chance ...

Suddenly the mountain jerked again, and Thalion looked around. He knew the signs well enough. "S'Hadh is not dead," he said quietly to Slightly, next to him.

Peter's lieutenant turned to stare at the Elf. "You're sure?"

The Elf nodded and pointed to the sacrificial chamber they found earlier with the altar – along with a lot of blood. "He is hurt, but I do not believe it was unto death. Perhaps there was no time for a well-aimed stroke. If I read this correctly, Hook had to act to free Peter and strike the wizard in one and the same movement. And the Dark One is powerful. I am certain that he was taken somewhere secure and that his magic is restoring him, even as we speak."

Slightly chewed his lower lip; his brown eyes wary. "You… you mean he will completely recover?"

Thalion shook his head. "No. This is impossible, even for him. But he will recover enough strength to survive and to – possibly – seek revenge." He met the boy's gaze. "Did you feel the trembling of the mountain?" Slightly nodded. "The 'Mount of No Return' can only be awakened by the dark wizard. And this trembling is the proof that the volcano is preparing to erupt. If S'Hadh were dead, it would be calm again – but it is not."

The boy frowned, exchanging a glance with Tinker Bell beside him. "Do you believe S'Hadh will cause the mountain to erupt? Why? Vengeance?"

"Possibly. But this might also be designed as an enticement for Peter to search for him. He still needs the boy's eternal youth – now more than ever." He sighed and looked toward the tunnel where the trail of blood led, where the troll vanished with the injured S'Hadh. "We have to trace the path of the warlock before he regains the strength to implement his evil intent and damages Neverland irrecoverably. Or captures Peter again."

Slightly turned toward the tunnel. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

He felt one of the Elf's strong hands on his shoulder. "Slow down, little warrior," Thalion smiled. "We are first obligated to attend to our wounded. If we do not, we will be too weak to confront the enemy again. And the war is not over."

The boy sighed. "This is what we call the 'horns of a dilemma.' " He shook his head. "And did you see that this cave is a perfect trap? And we're camped out in the middle of it."

Thalion had to smile again. Well, the boys were thinking ahead. He doubted any of the pirates had discerned their position, should the enemy attack them here. But here was enough light to care for the wounded, as well as rest and confer on their next step. His eyes narrowed. He did not like their situation, either. Not one bit!

Tink discerned his thoughts and jingled something. He glanced, surprised, at the fairy. "It will be dangerous!"

Tinker Bell nodded, shrugged spoke again. Slightly giggled. "As if danger would scare her away, when Peter needs her help!"

Thalion nodded. "All right. I will release you to find him and that pirate, who is mad enough to enter the lion's den alone and snatch away the prey from directly under the predator's nose. But please – be careful!"

The fairy made a face, chimed a caution to the boys – who moaned at the mothering – and vanished into the tunnel where the Goblins had run to catch Peter and Hook.

-------------------------------------

Peter dozed and shifted, murmuring something. While teasing Hook, he simply fell asleep, leaning on the pirate, who had been more than surprised. Hook's first impulse had been to shrug the boy off – he was the _enemy_, not a pillow, for pity's sake! – but then something of his better side spoke up. The boy needed time to recover in order to face the enemy again, and even this little nap was better than nothing. Terror was exhausting. The child's search for comfort from him – of all people – touched him.

And so Peter lay under Hook's arm, wrapping his own around the man, his expression almost happy in this position, even though unconscious of his own actions The pirate-captain could feel the breath of the boy over his hand laid across his shoulder. But the boy's weight, small as he was, pressed him against the wall and the wounds on his back and shoulder hurt. But for reasons he didn't care to consider, he didn't push the boy aside, but allowed himself to hold him in silence.

Suddenly a low grumble came down the chamber, and a shiver ran through the mountain. It was enough to waken Peter, his instincts rousing him. Groggy, Peter looked up – and saw above him the blue eyes of the man glancing at him with soft mockery. "You can fall asleep anywhere, can't you, boy?" Hook grinned.

Peter blinked, still fuzzy, realized where he was, and abruptly sat up. "Sorry," he murmured – and Hook's mouth dropped the second time this memorable day.

"If you apologize one time more, Pan, I'll know that you've lost the last bits of your tiny mind!"

Peter grinned and yawned. "Sorry, are you sure it's not you losing your mind?

Hook gave soft punch, knowing that the boy teased him, and sneered: "Welcome to the world of insanity!"

The youth gave him a kind and innocent smile. "I am new to this world, sir. May I trust you and your long experience for helpful advice?"

The buccaneer frowned, lifting his finger. "Don't push it, Peter!"

"ME? Sorry, sir, but what am I pushing?" He looked like innocence personified.

Hook closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten to control his temper before eying the boy's broad smirk. "There are times I just want to say 'to hell with the ship' and slit your throat. Or should I just laugh at your impertinence, because it would be bad form to allow you to irritate me?"

Peter propped his chin on a finger, looking pensive. "Considering our situation, the second option would be wiser," he laughed, and Hook moaned.

"We've spent far too much time together over the last few days."

The boy snorted. "Hey! I'm finally getting to see your good manners --"

Again the mountain trembled, and dust trickled down on them – interrupting the budding quarrel. After a long moment, everything calmed, but man and boy were both wary. "I don't like this!" the buccaneer said quietly.

"What is life without risk?" Peter asked dryly, and Hook shot him a sharp glare.

"Don't wave my own words in my face, Pan!"

"Why not? Is your word only valid when you speak it, or do you live by them?" He met the dark expression of the pirate-captain.

"In general I live by them! Otherwise you would be dead by now. My first promise when I woke up after losing my hand was 'I'll kill him.' And believe this, boy, my word will be kept!"

Peter grinned wider. "Aw, Hooky, you are such fun to argue with!" Again the mountain shivered and cooled the boy's mood. "Maybe you're right, that this volcano has the hiccups. We should try and find my friends – or your crew."

With some effort, stiff from his earlier exercise, Hook rose and moved toward the cave opening. He tucked the Elfish sword – which looked worse than before – into its sash, murmuring, "I don't believe it. First he apologizes, and now he admits I'm right. Slowly but surely, you're losing your mind, Pan! It's a little frightening."

The boy followed him; smirking mischievously. "Giddy gargoyles! If I'd know that, I wouldn't have bothered with your hand. I'd just be polite to you!"

"Peter?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up!"

The boy laughed. "Never expect me to follow orders, Hook!" he smirked, found himself face to face with an angry pirate, as Hook turned abruptly around.

"If you don't keep your chattering trap shut, I won't be able to hear if anyone is on our trail!"

Surprised the boy blinked, before he lowered his gaze – feeling stupid that he hadn't thought about being chased since he woke up. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I wasn't--"

"Yes, when did you ever THINK of more than plotting mischief?" the buccaneer hissed, his eyes scanning the cave that lay below them.

Peter made a face and thumbed his nose at the pirate, who listened, concentrating. But except for a far away rumble, everything remained silent. "I think we can move!" he murmured and waved toward the boy. "Come on!" Quickly he started to climb down the wall and Peter followed him.

In only moments, he had to clench his jaw to prevent himself from whimpering. Every step on every surface was hurtful, and it wasn't long before his feet started to bleed again. Hook was the first to reach the base, glanced carefully around, and saw the boy descending the last fathom. Of course his clumsy movements didn't slip his attention, and he looked at Peter's feet. "Why don't you just fly?" he asked as Peter reached the ground. And this time his voice held no mockery, but rather concern – almost!

Peter made a different face. "I would if I could. Or do you think I enjoy this?"

Hook lifted a brow. "Why can't you fly? Considering the treasure at your belt, I doubt you've lost all your happy thoughts!"

The boy's fingertips went to the little bundle with Wendy's tear. For a moment, he considered not confessing his weakness to the man, but he, Peter Pan, did not want to lie and, after all, Hook deserved it. So he took a deep breath and admitted, "I think it has something to do with S'Hadh. Since he is nearby, I can't. I… I think his dark powers are holding me down. It… it's like I was paralyzed here," he said, touching his chest, and lowered his gaze.

The pirate looked at him quizzically. "Like the time I confronted you with the possibility that she could forget you and would close her window?"

The boy's answer was very quietly. "Worse."

A low whistle was Hook's answer. "In other words, the enemy has clipped your wings." Peter nodded, and the buccaneer had to grin. "Any chance we could maintain this situation?" He met the angry glance of the boy.

"Suck an egg, Hook!"

The captain rolled his eyes. "A joke, boy! But this time on you, not me." He touched one of his shoulders. "Honestly, lad, don't look so downcast. I'm sure that you will be your irritating self again as soon as we've sent this old bastard to hell and --" He stopped, both exchanging identical looks of realization.

"If I can't still fly--"

" -- And you can't because of S'Hadh's influence, then --"

" -- It means that he's --"

" -- The wizard is still —"

"ALIVE!" they both gasped, staring at each other

"Codswallop!"

"Brimstone and gall!"

Again the mountain growled and they heard pebbles loosened and rolling, when Peter made a face. "Literally!" For a moment both were silent, then the boy sighed. "I suppose it -- it would have been too easy if you were able to kill him so quickly."

Hook frowned. "You thought it was easy?" Then he rubbed his eyes. "But you're right: I thought the same." He shook his had and cursed colorfully. "I got him through the heart, for pity's sake! The blade was halfway up to the hilt – why is he still alive?"

Peter looked at him curiously. "Magic! Don't you understand it yet?"

The pirate grumbled incomprehensively and started down the passage. "Come on! We have to find some way out of this damn volcano!" but he was stopped by the boy's hand on his arm.

"Why don't we go back and find the others?"

A mocking gaze went to his feet as a retort. "Don't tell me that you want to try and _fight _on those feet!"

"We can't retreat now because of a few scratches, Hook!" Peter exclaimed. "We have to overthrow S'Hadh, and do it before he can do more damage to Neverland! I'm sure he's weak after what you did to him, and this is probably the only chance we'll ever get!"

Hook shook his head. "You're weak as well. You're also nearly lame from your feet and inability to fly! I was able to protect you, but if we meet more of those miserable dwarves, I'll have hand _and_ hook full just keeping them away from my own throat!" He started away. "Come on, the sooner we find our way out of here the better!"

"But --"

"No 'buts', Pan!" the buccaneer snapped, glaring. "We find a way out of here! The end!"

Peter straightened, fists on his hips. "If we don't finish off this horrible old thief before he recovers, everything will be lost. He'll strike back, and this time no one will survive – including all of Neverland!."

The deep blue eyes of the pirate-captain narrowed. "Do you think me slow-witted, Pan? I _AM_ capable of logical thinking. But what will happen if you die? _Everything _is lost, including my ship! And that is a risk I will not take!"

"This is our only chance, Hook!" Peter argued. "We will not be able penetrate the 'Mount of No Return' this far once we leave! And to lure S'Hadh out of his lair will be impossible! We have to do this now, or all this has been for nothing. You could also kill me here and now, it will have the same effect!"

Next moment, the captain's finger was in his face, as well as the flashing forget-me-not-blue eyes. "Oh wouldn't I just love to right now, Pan!" he hissed, as he lost his patience. "And if you don't move your little carcass right now, I will give in to temptation!"

"At your command, Captain!" the boy said sarcastically, turned around and limped in the direction they had just come. He didn't know how he'd manage to walk the whole way back. His feet hurt terribly, and he wondered how he had endured the pain during their wild flight. Well, maybe fear _could _give you wings (and not just happy thoughts). He clamped his teeth in a very determined expression. He knew he had to find a weapon, and a way to confront S'Hadh himself. He hadn't come this far only turn back at the threshold of his destiny – because his feet hurt!

Hook cursed imaginatively under his breath. With a few long steps, he closed the distance between himself and the boy and pulled him roughly around to face him. "You truly have the thickest densest head have ever known!" he growled. "Are you so eager to die?"

Peter's eyes flashed green fire. "_My_ death, Hook. _My_ island is at stake, _my_ friends are in danger and --"

" -- and it is _MY_ ship and _MY_ crew you are risking!" the pirate interrupted, and for a moment, their eyes shot daggers at each other.

Peter snarled.

Hook's eyes grew red.

Peter bared his teeth.

Hook raised his implement.

Peter raised his fist.

For a moment, neither moved.

Hook could see the wild determination in the crystal depths before him, and he saw that nothing in that world could change the boy's mind, and fleetingly considered just leaving by himself. But desertion was Bad Form. Frustrated, he moaned and rubbed his eyes, still burning from the foul air. "Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs – you're the most stubborn piece of codswallop and calamity I have never gutted! Let's go find that old misbegotten highjacker and finish him off. But don't think that I intend to rescue you if we meet any of his 'soldiers'."

Peter snorted. "Just get me a sword and you won't need to lift a finger!"

Hook's eyes demonstratively dropped to the bleeding feet of the boy, and one brow lifted with a sneer. "Of course! Any other games of pretend you want to play while we're here?"

To his amazement, Peter's expression grew serious, and the boy said firmly, "No pretend, Captain, but – may I ask something from you?" The pirate waited, wary. Never before had the boy spoken to him like this. It must be something urgent for him to break with his usual behavior. "If… if I don't make it and you do, could… could you tell Wendy something from me?"

Hook watched Peter – _wraiths and wreckage, the boy had truly been captured by the little beauty; no doubt anymore!_ – and finally nodded. If the boy didn't survive, then he – James Hook – would have a lot of explaining to do to the little wildcat, and personal words from the brat would certainly be helpful, should the boy die…. And, after all, refusing a last request would be bad form.

"Please tell her that --"

Hook never did learn what Peter's last words to Wendy would be, because in that moment, a distant growing noise caught their attention, a noise which soon became hundreds of muted tapping sounds. They turned, seeing nothing, but soon small shapes were approaching from the other side of the cave – lots of them.

Perplexed, Peter found himself pulled behind Hook as the pirate placed himself in front of the boy, reaching for _Celeb Valar_. "Whatever you are, stay back or die!" he growled. But the figures didn't even slow down.

Finally, the pair could make out what was heading their way. The creatures were only a foot tall and nearly black. They had goat-legs with tiny cloven hooves, which made the curious sound. They had little pointed tails and two small horns growing from their heads, and flat faces. Their ears were also pointed – like by almost every member of the Little Folk – and lying flat against their heads. The upper body was nude and the skin dark. Their eyes glowed like coals, directed at man and boy, who prepared to battle the newcomers.

Well, facing a multitude of miniature devils inside an active volcano would unnerve anyone – even a Pan or a Hook. The pirate threw a glance over his shoulder at the boy. "Anyone you know?" he whispered, and the boy shook his head.

"Never met them before!" The swarm paused as one, and their leader stepped out in front of them. He carried – how could it be otherwise? – a little trident, which he clanged firmly onto the ground, while he examined the two allies with his yellow eyes. "I don't like this!" Peter murmured.

"I hate to admit it, but I agree."

The small creature jabbed his trident again into the dirt, grabbing Hook's and Peter's attention, saying in a hoarse treble, "Are you the magical lad who rules the cold world above, the one called Peter Pan?" He spoke with a strange accent, half hissing, half growling.

The boy swallowed and stepped from behind the buccaneer. "Yes, I am Peter Pan, but I don't rule Neverland."

The creature made an impatient gesture. "I am called Kilner. I am the leader of this family in the fire-mountain."

'_Family?'_ Hook thought, letting his eyes take in the little "devils" – certainly hundreds of them. _'Well, that I am calling a big clan!'_

"I can see you do not know us, human child."He didn't wait for Peter to answer, but continued: "We are Firbolgs and we live wherever the earth once opened to yield the old fire that has brought life to everyone." He gestured with his head the direction they'd come from. "We have watched you since you and the others have intruded in our domain, but we first had to consult about an eventual intervention. Usually we don't show ourselves to the Softfeet."

"Softfeet?" Peter asked bewildered, and the miniature-devil pointed at his sore feet. "Just look at them. You have soft feet, poorly made for our home. They trouble and weaken you." The boy glanced at Kilner's small cloven hooves, lifting a brow. Well, the hooves were better suited to the stony caves, and not sensitive to the heat. But to call him "Softfeet" --! "Well, you just try to run over sand or ice with your hooves," he grumbled. "I bet I'd be quicker."

"Ice? Down here?" Kilner answered.

"A point to him," Hook sighed, and cocked his head. "So you decided to contact us. Pray tell why?"

The fire-bogey peered at them suspiciously, supported himself on his trident, while he stood tall on one leg, and prepared to lecture them. "Softfeet are not welcome here. And the sinister one, he who has dared to disturb ours host's rest, must discharged. Our mount is not easily awakened, but if someone disturbs him before his time, he will grow very angry. And it is our duty to prevent this!" He pointed toward the direction the two allies had come, and growled, "The invader threatens our home – and you fight him because he threatens yours. In this, something has come to pass that has never happened before, but has been foretold to us, that there will come a day in which Firbolgs and Softfeet will be obligated to fight one and the same enemy, and become allies." He sighed. "That day seems to have come."

Peter slowly approached Kilner, and shrugged off Hook's restraining hand on his arm. "You came to help us?" he asked, relief obvious on his features as he crouched down in front of the mini-devil.

The Firbolg nodded. "We see no other way to defend our home. The wizard's minions are everywhere – and they are far larger than we. We attacked after they arrived, but," he shook his head mournfully, "the invader used his power against us. Many of my kinsmen died." He straightened, eyes glowing even brighter. "But he will pay!"

"We all want to send him to hell," the boy said quietly. "And we have many allies."

Kilner made a face. "Yes. I saw the Woodwalkers. They are blind to the beauty of our home-world."

Peter discerned that the Firbolg meant the Elves, and smiled wryly. "Well, everyone thinks his home is the best of all worlds!"

Hook, hearing the exchange, sighed, shaking his head. _'Curiouser and curiouser,'_ he mused. _'The boy is now having profound thoughts!' _He found himself the center of attention, and cleared his throat. "Now that we've heard your story, and accepted your offer of help, how do you intend to fulfill it?"

Kilner snorted and frowned, pawing one hoof in the dirt before he threateningly lifted his trident. "The tall one should watch his tongue. It is HE who has invaded OUR home! And if not for this boy and that _predinictalta_ magician, you might indeed learn what these can do!" The trident began to glow in the dimness. Peter laid an appeasing hand on the small shoulder – only to pull it back quickly with a loud "Ouch!"

Hook snatched up the boy's hand. "Are you hurt?" Carefully he took the boy's hand in his own and saw the palm turning pink, the pain indicated in Peter's grimace. Fortunately, (if you could call it that) he had used the left one. "Is this the way you help us?" the buccaneer challenged.

Kilner expression on his flat dark face had become apologetic, while several of the others cautiously moved nearer. "We… we are much warmer than you," he stammered, clearly embarrassed. "I thought you must know that!" he addressed Peter.

"If I never heard of you before, how would I know that?"

Kilner made a face, showing pointed teeth (causing both man and boy to shudder.) "My apologies!" He gestured behind his clan. "I know a well. It is not far from here. You can cool your hand and… and can drink. I am certain you Softfeet are thirsty. Our good air always makes your race thirsty."

_Good air?_ Peter and Hook exchanged a glance. Well, everyone had the right to an opinion. "Show us the way," Hook said sharply. "And don't dare to come near, little Satan, or you'll see the magic of this!" He pointed to _Celeb Valar_, which had recovered its sheen. He rose and pulled Peter up. "Can you manage?" Surprised over the pirate's concern, the boy could only nod. "Then let's move!"

Hook caught himself after only a few steps, following the Firbolgs. Had he really shown concern for this ungrateful rascal? He glanced back at the boy, who was still staring at him, clearly baffled. He frowned. NO! Of course he was _not_ worried about this nervy brat! _Oh hell._. He was completely indifferent if the boy suffered from a burn on his hand – served him right. Maybe he'd have some idea what it meant to have an injured hand. And scratches on his feet. He. Didn't. Care!

Peter stared after him and exchanged a bewildered glance with his new ally. Someday _someone_ would understand that man. One moment he expressed concern, protecting him like a mother-hen, and the next he was swearing viciously, wearing the darkest expression he could manage, stomping around in the most indignant manner! No, James Hook was a riddle. Sighing, he followed the buccaneer, holding his tongue as his feet began to complain again. He really looked forward to cooling them in water – and slaking his tormenting thirst!

------------------------------

In the large cave, Thalion straightened and nodded toward the comrade he had just bandaged. A quick look around told him that all – Elves, men and boys – had received medical attention and had some rest. The break in the action had taken longer than he had intended, but he had no other choice. What use are exhausted and injured fighters?

Nibs appeared at his side. "What now, sir? If we search all the tunnels for S'Hadh, that would mean we have to split up, but we wouldn't have the manpower to fight if we met anyone."

The Elf started to smile. This boy gave him joy with his sense for strategy. "I propose that we --"

Two cries reached them – the warning cries of the Elf and the pirate who were on watch - and next moment, they saw the approach of a swarm of Goblins pouring toward them from the gallery, roaring like a pride of lions. "Build a line of defense!" Thalion shouted and dragged out his sword.

"Well, let us clean up this little mess!" Slightly sighed.

John pushed himself through the others toward the old Irishman, calling his name. "Not now, lad!" the boatswain tried to shrug him off, but John held him by the sleeve of his jacket.

"Have the men build two lines. The first one kneels, the second stands. Second line fires first, being a better target. As they reload, the first lines shoots. The enemy is continually under fire and they do not endanger each other but provide protection!"

Smee gaped at the boy. "T'at… t'at could have come from t'e cap'n!" he gasped.

John grinned. "No, from Napoleon!"

The Irishman frowned. "Who?" Shocked the boy gaped at him – the man never heard of Napoleon? - as Smee turned to the crew. "Ye heard 'im. Two lines, first one kneeling, second standing. Give t'ose leathery skeletons wot t'ey deserve. But don't shoot one of our pointy-eared bean poles!"

Seconds later the fight had erupted. The warlock's supporters seemed to come from everywhere, even from the tunnels behind them. Taken by surprise the allies realized that they hadn't finished off as many enemies as they thought. Or there were other reserves of Goblins somewhere, possibly from the outside. Too many. No matter how hard they fought, they were unable to break through the hostile lines. John's plan had been effective, and they were able to kill many Goblins, but where one was killed, two seemed to take his place. And then they were finally too close for pistols and muskets, and the pirates had to fight hand to hand against them. Swords and cutlasses met maces, halberds, claws, paws and fangs.

Enemies and allies mingled as the groups finally met. The air was filled with the clanging of the weapons, the roars of the trolls, the snarling of the Black Dwarfs, Impets and Goblins and the eager war-cries of the allies. The Elves raged terribly among the servants of the wizard, but it was like fighting a swarm of bees. Immortal and mortal men as well as the boys fought with all their might and skill, and their righteous wrath, over and over again, gave them new strength, but slowly, certainly, they were forced into a single knot, and the allies were close to succumbing. Fighting desperately, they tried not to let the dark creatures corner them, which would have meant certain death.

Thalion looked around – it was hopeless. "They are too many!" he screamed. "Retreat!"

But this order came too late. They way to the gallery was blocked as well as the paths to the other parts of the underground-world. They were surrounded by opponents.

Suddenly the mountain growled and bucked, and made friend and enemy sway. But S'Hadh's servants found their balance quicker as the others, using the inattention of their foes. Like a dark sea, they swept toward the Elves and humans and overran them. Thalion, Smee, Cookson and many others were simply knocked off their feet, and found themselves fighting desperately from the ground against claws and blades. Several Goblins threw themselves on the Lost Boys and John, forcing them down as well.

'_We're finished!' _This thought pierced Thalion's mind with cold clarity, while he tried to hold an Impet's fangs away from his throat, feeling an old dread returning. Even a seasoned warrior will feel dread when he is on his back, his enemy at his throat.

A teeth-rattling explosion shook the cave, echoing sharply from the walls and something exploded in the middle of the attackers. A second boom roared through the underground-world, and then a third and fourth – always followed by an explosion among the Goblins and the other Unseelies. The echoes loosened parts of the roof, knocked down stalagmites, and made the ground shiver.

Fighting for breath Thalion looked up as his attacker turned away and toward the new threat. He saw colorfully dressed figures on the gallery along with several barrels on the stones at the edge. The Elf's determination was renewed as he realized who and what had come to their rescue!

"Brutes! Our gunmen are here!" Smee shouted wildly, shoving himself to his feet – sweaty, beaten, with a nasty gash on his forehead, but with sparkling eyes, full of Irish temper.

Billy Jukes' loud "FIRE!" rang through the cave, and the allies hit the floor again. The cannons spat fire, smoke and death at the nightmare-like creatures. The second fusillade had a devastating effect on the Unseelies, but still they were not beaten. They ran toward the gallery to attack the fourteen pirates and to prevent them from a third barrage.

But it never came to that. From behind the stones of the gallery's edge, other figures rose. Not only the fourteen pirates, no, but dozens of leather-clad long-haired men wearing feathers over their painted faces. They sent volleys of arrows down on the enemies, before lunging at them with savage war-cries, swinging tomahawks and knives, blades of every description.

"Tiger-Lily's people!" John shouted in delight, and Nibs threw him a grin.

"I think she was worried about you." John laughed at Nibs, who chuckled.

"Now we'll make it!" Slightly cheered. "Send them back to the hell they came from, boys!"

Fighting fierce enemies on two fronts was something even the dark wizard's flunkies couldn't handle. Suddenly the tables were turned. The Elves fought with new courage and tenacity, as if the emergence of help had renewed their strength. The pirates fought with the same stubbornness, as if the arrivals had given them wings.

The Indian warriors destroyed the dark creatures. They were rested and excellent fighters, merciless toward their enemies and loyal to each ally and friend. Additionally, their religion taught them of the existence of demons, and the Goblins, trolls, Impets certainly matched the description.

But what finally decided the battle were the countless tiny flying creatures, winged and unwinged, their golden and pale-green lights bathing the cave in a warm and comforting light. Hundreds of them whirred through the cave and attacked the trolls, Goblins and the other Unseelies, who seemed to be unable to defend themselves against the tiny creatures, too quick and too small to catch or strike. Like small comets, the fairies and Pixies flew between the dark creatures, here causing one troll lose his balance, there pulling there an ally out of danger. The Pixies caused the Goblins to lose their heads, using befuddling-spells to make them attack each other, while the fairies used their dust to set heavy things like maces and halberds flying, which gave the allies the chance to finish off the disarmed foes.

Suddenly it was over. Bathed in sweat, injured and exhausted, Thalion let his sword sink, point down, and looked around him. All enemies were dead or gone. Breathing heavily, the Elf dropped his head back and momentarily his eyes. They won!

Slowly even the pirates saw that all foes were gone, and broke into wild cheers. The Indians suddenly released a loud cry of victory, while the fairies intoned a heavenly concert of bells. The Pixies grinned and joked about the fallen enemies, while the Lost Boys fell into each other's arms.

John clapped Nibs on the shoulder, who was limping, when he felt a hand on his back. He turned around – and faced a lovely, golden face, painted with warrior colors over her almond eyes. "Is John hurt?"

The boy stared at the Indian girl, who turned a pretty pink beneath her copper skin – and grinned. "T… Tiger-Lily?" he stuttered, not believing his own eyes. He certainly never expected to see the Chief's daughter!

The Indian girl lowered her face, before she said softly: "John is a fierce fighter. Tiger-Lily watched him … there." She pointed toward the gallery.

Blushing (not nearly so prettily) the boy murmured. "Uh… thank you, but… but without your warriors… um… we couldn't have made it!" He heard giggling – the other boys watched him and Tiger-Lily with open amusement – and cleared his throat. "How did you get here?" – Well, that sounded better, firmer, as it should.

The Chief's daughter smiled. "Great Panther met Brave Feather and her brother, two that look the same, a fairy and a green trickster, Ironhand's men and two strangers of the ancient tales. Brave Feather told Great Panther of this fight … that the men of the big canoe were trying … to help Ironhand and Little White Eagle, who … now fight as friends and now fighting together in the fire mountain. The dark shaman is not … welcome here and so Great Panther decide to help white men – following Little White Eagle and make an alliance with our … enemy to defeat the danger that … may hurt us all. He offered our … help." She sighed. "The fairy with Brave Feather's presence, and the trickster … flew to their folk … to ask support … fairies came to share their dust to --"

John lifted a hand, as he finally realized of whom Tiger-Lily spoke. "Just a moment. 'Brave Feather' and her brother, and the two who look the same?" He stared at her. "Do you mean Wendy, Michael and the Twins?"

"That is as you name them, yes."

Shocked, John looked around – and saw his sister darting forward to him, dressed in the mix of Elf, Indian and pirate-clothes. Beside the girl ran a smaller copper-haired figure and behind her two more with tousled brown hair. A miniature imp galumphed in front of them, chattering in his high voice and catching his own tail. "Wendy! Michael! Twins! What you are doing here?" he gasped, eyes wide as saucers.

The girl reached troop of boys, who looked as if a stampede of wild horses had raced over them, and flung her arms around John, who stiffened. "Patching you up – as always!" She laughed at his reluctance to receive her hug. "I am so glad that you aren't badly hurt!" she sighed and tightened her grip.

John cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. "Uh, Wendy, I'm all right and.. and would you please stop strangling me?"

_Oh dear, such a fussy behavior, and in front of Tiger-Lily!_ Wendy giggled and looked at him with shining eyes before she ruffled his hair, which made him blush even more. "You look terrible, brother dear, are you aware?"

Tiger-Lily laughed aloud, and John saw only once chance to save his ego. "You should see the other guy!"

"Oh dear! Wendy will have a lot of mending to do when we reach our hideout again!" Michael crowed, laughing with the other boys, and Bumblyn nodded.

"You all look worse than my grandfather after a trip to the castle's catacombs!"

Nibs blew out air between closed lips. "I can picture just what you mean."

Curly, who supported a tired Tootles with a darkened eye, chuckled. "Yeah. To be compared to a Hobgoblin after a safari isn't much of a compliment!"

John decided to change the subject, not minding that Tiger-Lily took his hand, enjoying the feel of her small hand in his. "So, what reason do you have for not staying on the _Jolly Roger_, sister dear? When Peter sees you here--"

It suddenly dawned on Wendy that a certain lad clad in leaves was nowhere to be seen. Nor a tall man in black. She interrupted, "Where's Peter? here's Captain Hook? Have the Goblins taken them? Was this battle about finding them? Where is --"

"Calm down, my lady! Both are – hopefully – safe, and no, they are not in the Dark One's grasp – as far as we know." She looked up and faced a very disheveled Thalion, who smiled down at her. Relieved to find him alive, she encased him in a hug. Surprised, he finally returned the embrace. "Didn't I tell you that I've fought many battles and that this wouldn't be my last?" he asked quietly, and met her eyes shining up at him.

"Yes. But things happen in ways we don't plan. I am so glad to find you alive and – almost well." She glanced around. "Where is Giliath?"

With an economy of words, Thalion told her – as gently as possible – of the events that happened up to that time. With growing fear, Wendy, the three boys, Aurora and Kailen and Bumblyn listened closely. As the Elf finished his report, the girl fought tears. "Giliath --" she whispered and closed her eyes. "Oh sweet Lord, please help him and the others!" she prayed and felt Thalion's warm hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently – silent thanks for her concern. She took a deep breath, swallowing the rest of her tears. "And… and Hook saved Peter?"

Slightly nodded. "He tricked S'Hadh."

"And did it so well that even Tink swallowed it!" Curly giggled. Wendy felt a wave of gratitude for the pirate-captain. The buccaneer had risked everything to save Peter – even his own life. Well, he seemed to be very good at it. This was the third time now he placed another's life above his own – and that even for Peter, the person he had loathed and hated with every fiber of his being only days ago. Yes, of course Hook had done it for his ship – but when he had protected her, the ship hadn't been at the stake.

John touched her shoulder. "You haven't told us why you're here. Peter gave you a clear order, and --"

"I don't take orders – from any of you!" his sister said firmly. "I only agreed to Peter's request because I knew I could help him that way. But things changed. When Billy Jukes and the others decided to come to your all aid with the smaller cannons, the boys and I couldn't stay on the _Jolly Roger_ any longer – after all, we would have been alone there."

"Even if we would have had plenty to clean up!" Twin One giggled, and his brother nodded cheerfully.

"Why?" Nibs asked curiously, and the other boys listened, too. Even Thalion listened, already sensing that there was something amiss.

Wendy blushed and seemed quite interested in her feet suddenly. "Well… you see… uh… as we fired on the cave, harpies came and attacked us. The pirates fought back, but then Alrinachs tried to finish them off… and you know that they loathe human music… and Hook has this… this beautiful harpsichord… and… I saw no other way to help the others than to play… and --"

"And she opened the door so they could hear her all over the ship," Michael told, and giggled. "But the harpies, who hadn't left, didn't like it at all and attacked her there. Do ya have any idea what Hook's cabin looks like now?"

Everyone seemed to be staring at Wendy, who looked very forlorn, before she frowned. "There was no other choice and --"

"DESTROYED? The captain's cabin is _destroyed_?"

Smee's sudden outburst interrupted Wendy's mumbling. Billy Jukes, who had obviously just delivered the news, was trying to calm the boatswain, whose face changed to deep red while he glared at the girl. "YOU! It's YOUR fault!" he yelled, while he pulled of his hat and threw it to the ground, then scuffled his grey thick hair.

Wendy felt her temper rising. "It isn't my fault the whole flock attacked at once!" she retorted. After all she had been through in the last days – and especially last hours – she wasn't about to crumble under a verbal beating.

"T'e desk is damaged, t'e cabinet is broken, the carpets are blood soaked, the table and the chairs and… and --" The old Irishman was at a loss for words.

"It was the _harpies!_ I might have made one or two scratches, but most of the damage was theirs, not mine!"

Smee threw up his hands. "Och, t'e Cap'n'll go mad!"

"There were only two choices: his cabin or his men. What would you have done? He wouldn't have decided any differently," the girl retorted, and the bo'sun stared at her – more baffled by her tone than her words.

But Wendy needed her high dudgeon now to distract her from the fear that knotted her stomach whenever she thought of the moment when Hook would find out about the state of his cabin. Smee was right. He _would_ go mad. And she doubted that he would let her "off the hook" so easily this time. Quite truthfully, she wanted to be far away when he learned about it.

Smee took a deep breath, paused as if he were going to say something, then blew it out and shook his head – _'Boils and blunderbusses, this li'l gal will have such a debt to pay!'_ – and turned away. He didn't want to think about what would come of it. No! He thought it better to distract himself, and looked for the Indian warriors. He wanted to thank them for saving them all.

Cookson, who had heard the entire exchange, grinned nastily. "T'at's it! Wit' t'at, t'e li'l bitch'll find no mercy in t'e cap'n's eyes! He'll gut her sure!" He chuckled – and cursed colorfully the next moment as a fairy shoved his hat over his ugly face, scolding him in her own language.

Billy Jukes hauled two of the cannons down into the main-cave, stepping over dead Goblins and approaching the ship's cook. "Wit'out t'e li'l miss we'd'a never made it! Not only cuz of t'ose damn ghostly singers, but because she killed five of t'ose cursed crows 'erself!"

"Aye!" Cecco confirmed, positioning two other cannons beside the first. "She used t'at sword like she'd grew up wit' it! T'e cap'n can be proud of 'er!"

Cookson snorted mockingly and shoved his hat back, swatting at the fairy as if she were a bothersome insect, but she simply dodged out of reach and laughed at him. "He'll twist 'er neck when 'e learns that she's turned his swanky cabin into a battlefield!"

Albino lugged two wooden boxes with cannon shot, placing them beside the weapons. "Shut up, Cooky! You ain't been t'ere. Ot'erwise ya wouldna talk like t'at!"

The ship's cook sneered. "O'course ye defend 'er! But you 'eard t'e cap'n: keep yer fingers off 'er!"

The Oriental now arrived with two more wooden boxes, also full of shot, while Skylight deposited two barrels of gun-powder. Finally it dawned at Cookson that something was very strange was going on here. With open mouth he gaped at his comrades. "Tell me what ya been drinkin'!"

"Drinkin'?" the giant black pirate frowned.

Cookson blinked several times rapidly. "T'ere ain't no ot'er explanation. T'is witch and t'is little monster of a dwarf cooked up some magic poison! Or 'ow is it you c'n carry t'em? Every one of t'ose" he pointed at the cannons and boxes "weighs enough fer two 'r' t'ree men?"

The gunmen now laughed openly and pointed at the fairies, who still darted through the caves. "Fairy-dust!" Jukes grinned. "Makes light what's 'eavy. Weapons, too."

"Or 'ow do ye t'ink we've been able to close t'e distance atween t'e ship and t'is hellish mountain so quick?" Albino chuckled. "T'ey carried us all – including t'e redskins!"

"T'e two lovebirds over t'ere done a miracle, convincin' t'eir folk t' help us!" Skylight smirked and pointed at Aurora and Kailen, who hung near the gallery between a larger dark green Pixie and a fairy with long golden hair, clad in a white dress like moonbeams – the Pixie-king and the Fairy-queen.

Cookson stared at them "Lovebirds?"

Cecco shrugged. "T'ey don't it yet, but t'ey do sound like a ol' married couple w'en t'ey talk wit' each ot'er!"

Smee now stepped between them. "If t'em golden insects are so eager t' help us, maybe t'ey can put t'e captain's quarters in order, afore he learns of t'e disaster."

Two fairies nearby them stared at him and touched their foreheads.

Sighing Smee bowed his head. "Well, I thought as much!"

TBC --

Dear Readers,

once again a big thank-you for your reactions. As you all suspected the whole thing isn't over yet - and believe me, our two allies have to face a lot of more; not only the enemy but their changing feelings as well. Next chapter Hook will learn about the 'little tousled' state of his cabin... So hopefully you'll be still curious.

Oh, by the way, for those who loves PotC, I am going to poste, in one or two days, the begin of another story; this time about Jack, Will and Elizabeth. The story is named "The treasure of Atlantis" and is settled after the third movie (well, we all have an anticipation what there maybe will come, even if not in detail). It's about the mysterious remain of Atlantis and its sunken treasures, about the knowledge of the Mayas who knew of it, too, of a certain (beloved) pirate-captain who is up to another crazy adventure in search for said treasures, of a wanted revenge of another buccaneer against 'our' Jack, and its about love, desire and friendship. There will be our well-known characters as well as many new one and the story is J/E + W/E, maybe R-rated for later; after all we got a pretty well hint of the growing and changing feelings of our 'three'.

So who wants to read it: be my guest. Oh, and don't worry about "Battle for Neverland". I've finished the story (no fear, there are almost 10 chapters left for you now) and the written chapters are all in my beta-reader's hands, who does - again I have to say it - a very good job. Thank you so much, my dear friend!

Please review and maybe I'll find the one or other of you in answers to my PotC-Story.

Love you all

Lywhn


	33. Reunited

**Chapter 32 – Reunion**

Peter was concentrating on getting one foot in front of the other. Every step was additional torment as he followed the tall outline of Hook in the distance. Several of the Firbolgs remained near him, but didn't touch him. They all had seen what one touch had done to the boy's hand. The boy clenched his teeth together, but he had tears in his eyes as they walked through two more caves on uneven ground. Finally they reached another passage where another cavern branched off.

Kilner vanished into the labyrinth of fallen stones and cockeyed stalagmites, and one of his clan gestured for the two allies to follow him. Hook took a deep breath and entered the cavern. He could feel the pebbles under the firm soles of his boots, and he was forced to admit that his feet were probably blistered inside the heavy boots. Most unpleasant. He looked back at the boy, who, it was obvious, was also forcing himself to walk.

A low whimper escaped Peter. "Go ahead," he whispered. "I … I can't go very fast." The pirate's gaze fell on the sore feet of the boy, now bleeding openly, and realized what Peter's problem was. He rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back with a sigh – _great thundering twiddlethumpers, why him?_ – and returned to the boy. He critically observed him. "Will you make it?" he heard himself asking, and cursed himself anew for displaying concern.

Peter didn't answer, but looked at him, jaw jutting forward in determination and face grey with pain. A stray tear had left its track on his dirty face. Hook swore as only a sailor could – which made the Firbolgs gasp – strode to the helpless child, canted _Celeb Valar_ in his metal claw, wrapped his left arm around the boy's waist and clamped him under his arm. "Thank you!" Peter whispered, relieved and grateful. The buccaneer grumbled something Peter couldn't quite hear, and hitched the boy higher, to get a better grip. This position was anything but comfortable for the boy, but – at least – it was better than walking with those feet.

Kilner had waited for them, the tocking sounds from his hooves displaying his impatience. Well, Hook didn't care. Following the miniature version of a friendly devil, he soon heard a soft splashing sound, and the air began to smell fresher. Kilner carried a little torch (which Hook suspected was for his and Peter's benefit, that those creatures did not need the light.) As he rounded a pillar, the light of the torch revealed water flowing out of the wall. It splashed down stones into something like a pool and vanished somewhere off in the dark.

The mere sight of water was enough to lift Hook's spirits. With several long strides, he was at the pool, dropped the Elfish sword, and waded into the water that barely reached his knees. In the middle, he carefully set Peter down – the boy hissed as his wounded feet met the water – and stepped to the fall. He steadied himself with his hook and caught the water with shivering hand, drinking greedily. He usually didn't drink water. He usually found it tasteless, preferring a good wine, or a decent cup of tea or rum, but water? Well right now he was convinced that he had never drunk anything better than this! It wasn't cold and tasted a mite salty, but nevertheless it was – delicious!

He saw Peter approach and allowed him access. The boy knelt down and sighed in pleasure as the water swirled about him. With trembling hands he caught the water, too, and started to drink. "Drink slowly!" the buccaneer ordered, before he plunged his hand into pool and started to wash his face.

The water was like a blessing on his hot sweaty face, and a sound of pleasure escaped him. Quickly he scooped more water and splashed it over him. It flowed into his open collar and soaked his shirt and waistcoat. Relieved, he repeated the action until there was no part of him still dry. In that moment, his appearance didn't matter.

Peter drank slowly and steadily. He could feel strength and energy returning. Suddenly he felt the strong hand of Hook on his shoulder. "Not too much all at once, Peter!" he warned. "Pause and drink more later."

Unwillingly the boy obeyed – he knew that the man was right – and let himself fall backward into the pool. He sighed in relief and the water played around his tired limbs. The first time in approximately … forever he could feel the weightlessness he missed so much. For a beautiful moment it was as though he were flying. His rapturous expression amused Hook as he sat down on a stone at the water's edge, removing his overcoat and loosening his weapon-sash. Water dripped from his long curls and his – now dark – beard. He stroked it, feeling the new growth and made a face – he must look like a hermit by now! – and slipped out of the heavy captain's coat.

Peter braced himself on his elbows – only his head above water – grinning at Kilner who crouched a little further away. The Firbolg looked distrustfully at the water. "You deserve a medal, Kilner!"

The Firbolg cocked his head and scratched his head between his horns; looking completely bewildered: "What is this … medal?" he asked with his rough voice.

Peter smiled. "Something you get from your friends for performing a heroic deed. It shines like gold and sometimes it is made of it. You wear it on your clothes so that everyone sees that you're a hero."

Hook whistled at Peter's demonstration of some very everyday knowledge, found everywhere except Neverland. "Where did you learn that?"

The boy stuck his tongue out at him and then saw that the captain was shrugging off his coat. "What … what are you doing?" he asked unnecessarily.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" the buccaneer jeered; frowning at Peter's show of disrespect.

"We don't have time for--" the boy started, but Hook interrupted him.

"Really? Are you in a hurry?" With some effort, he tried to remove his damp waistcoat without damaging it with his metal claw. But it was almost impossible.

Peter watched the man fighting with the damp recalcitrant material, sighed deeply, and asked: "Can I help?"

Though he should have expected it, something like shock appeared on the pirate's face, then a frown. Anyone could tell he was fighting an inner battle. The captain HATED needing to depend on anyone else, especially when that someone else was the cause of most of his problems, but he knew that he would need the boy's assistance. After several uncomfortable seconds, he nodded shortly and Peter peeled the garment from his shoulders. It was a strange experience for both, accompanied by an odd feeling in both their stomachs, but Hook was finally free of the heavy clothes. "Thanks," the buccaneer murmured shortly. Then he pointed to the rock beside him. "Sit down and put your feet under the waterfall!" Curious as to the man's purpose, Peter obeyed.

Hook then pulled the torn shirt off over his head as painful twinges again reminded him of the wounds. For a moment Peter's gaze was fixed on the cruel harness and the bloody bandage beneath it. Guilt rose like bile in his throat, and he scowled, and watched as Hook started to cut his shirt, already torn at the collar, into broad strips. "Don't you like that shirt anymore?" he joked.

Hook spared him a glance. "You can't walk on those feet. You need something over them. Since I don't carry shoes in my pockets, this will have to do." He pointed at the waterfall. "Rinse your foot under the water, then put it then on my knee!"

Peter obeyed again, and gasped as the water streamed over his injired right foot. "Why does it burn so much?" he forced the words between clenched teeth and Hook lifted a brow.

"The water is loaded with minerals, as is normal for a volcano. Minerals can sting a wound, but it promotes healing."

"Why?" he asked, offering the pirate his right foot. Kilner drew closer to them, also curious about the "softfeet." He squatted down beside the humans and leaned his chin on his arms.

Hook started to bind the first strip of silk around the boy's foot. "Rainwater is pure, it falls onto the mountains, soaks through the ground until it reaches a layer that is not porous. There it collects and follows that level until it comes out of the earth in a well or spring, or flows into the ocean. As it flows, it robs the minerals of bits too small to ever be seen, but they determine the taste of the water. And so no one spring or well tastes like any other."

Peter watched him fascinated, the pain momentarily forgotten. "And that's why the water here tastes like that?"

The pirate nodded, wrapping a second strip around the boy's foot. "Lava and ash from the last eruption are laid down in layers, through which the water can flow," he responded, sounding like a university instructor. "Lava is simply stone heated to melting. Each element melts at a different temperature. There is brimstone in them as well, which stays separate from the lava. As soon as the magma has cooled down, it builds a completely new kind of stone, which is very porous. It is easily eroded in water. And because of that, water from a volcano is richer with minerals and brimstone." He waved toward the waterfall. "The other foot now, boy!"

Still startled by this new knowledge, Peter obeyed again. "Isn't brimstone poisonous?" he asked and watched how handily the buccaneer used his hook to bandage his other foot.

"In larger quantities, yes, but in this small concentration it is merely styptic."

"Spiktic?"

"Styptic. It eases bleeding," Hook translated and bound another strip around Peter's left foot.

"And how did you know that this water sulfurous?"

"It tastes something like the air." He looked up and stared into the dim light. "Are you requesting a lesson in geology?"

Peter started to grin. "If geoloby has something to do with volcanoes, stones and water, then yes!"

"_Geology_," Hook corrected automatically, tying off the strip, "and comes from Greek. It means--" He caught himself and pushed the boy's legs off his lap. "Enough! Here I am sitting and teaching this truant about the cycle of water! I have truly lost my mind!"

The boy laughed, testing his feet. "Thanks, Hook. I always wanted to know how the water gets up to the mountains. So the mountains catch rain-water, it leaks through and spills out again."

The pirate-captain stared at him and closed his eyes as he heard the summary. "Pan, you would drive any professor at Eton crazy!"

The boy gave him an inoffensive glance. "Why? That's what you told me. And how does the rain get into the sky?"

"Because of the sun!" Hook answered without thinking.

"The sun? Does he drink water?"

"No," the buccaneer moaned and rubbed his suddenly weary eyes. "It evaporates the water." Abruptly he rose. "And that's all for now! If you, ya little blighter, truly wish to learn something for a change, then go to school!"

Peter shook his head. "Never!"

"Thought so," the man growled and bent to pick up his waistcoat. Kilner stared at him. What the man had told was new to him as well, and he was surprised to learn that the water came to his world from the sky.

The boy rose, too, and tested his makeshift 'shoes.' The silk strips weren't adequate protection, but better than nothing. "My thanks, Captain!" he smiled, and for the twinkling of an eye, the buccaneer returned the smile, before he – once again – caught himself and put on his hardest expression; a mask no one believed anymore.

Suddenly the voices of the Firbolgs echoed around them, and then a jingling, a sound Peter knew very well. "TINK!" he cried, and moved to leap away, but Hook held him back. "Not so fast, young man! First you must –"

The golden fairy darted toward them and almost knocked the boy backwards in joy. Wild with glee, she whirled around him, before she flung her arms as far around his neck as she could, pulled at his hair, bit his ear (as she always did when she wanted to tease him), pressed a kiss to his nose and finally sat on his shoulder, jingling happily. Peter giggled as if all that activity tickled. "Hey, Tink, where did you come from?"

The little fairy spared a glance to Kilner and his clan, and chattered excitedly. "Giliath's alive? And Thalion sent him and the wounded to safety?" Peter sighed in relief, as did Hook.. He felt an unfamiliar joy when he learned the Elf hadn't surrendered to his injuries. Tink continued her report, and both listened carefully.

"So they have pushed back the enemy," Hook murmured. "I doubt the creatures are finished."

Tink looked at him – and a compassionate sound escaped her as she saw the of state the buccaneer – the bloody bandage, the dirt, the shadows under his reddened eyes, the pallor and the look of fatigue. He had three days' beard and his mane was a mess. She'd never before seen him like this. She jingled softly and Hook lifted a brow.

"Do I find finally mercy before your eyes?" he asked wryly. Tinker Bell tossed her yellow mop and stuck her tongue out at him before she gestured to Peter to follow her. "It's no wonder you have no manners, boy – considering your caretaker!" the pirate grumbled.

Peter smiled. "Don't be annoyed, Hooky. Tink can lead us back to our friends and your crew." He turned toward Kilner. "Are you coming, too?"

The Firbolg nodded. "We must needs do, lad. 'Tis, after all, our home the Dark One has taken refuge in. We are now beholden to one another."

Peter nodded. "Right. But please – a bit of distance between us? – that means my friends, too – you're dangerous company!" The Firbolg lowered his eyes and, amazingly, looked embarrassed. The boy turned his attention to Hook, now in a state of undress. "Come on, Hooky, I'll help you into your waistcoat."

Tink's little jaw dropped – her Peter --? Hook was also taken by surprise. "You are beginning to frighten me, Pan. First you apologize, then admit I'm right, and now you're offering your assistance of your own free will. Are you ill?"

Peter made a face. "No. I just need you to make your usual noise, because we must tempt S'Hadh from his hidey-hole and…"

"I'd rather thirty harpies, ten trolls and hundred Goblins to your presence!" the pirate growled at him, but Peter grinned this infamous smirk. Somehow, Hook was glad to see it again.

Suddenly a loud explosion echoed past them, and a shiver ran through the ground. Peter and Hook gasped. "Does … is the volcano erupting?" Peter whispered.

Kilner shook his head. "No. That sound is far different!"

Another explosion rolled through the tunnels and the buccaneer frowned. "That … that sounds like our four-pounders!" he murmured.

Peter glanced up at him. "A cannon? How did it get here?"

The pirate shrugged and snatched up his waistcoat. "I don't know, but something is up. Hurry, boy, I think we'll find a surprise soon." Quickly he helped the man into the waistcoat and started to re-button it – and again the two felt the strangeness of the situation.

---------------------------------

"I don't think that it would be wise to split up. Tinker Bell is searching for the two of them, and when she finds, them she will lead them back to this place."

Thalion stretched, exchanging ideas with Great Panther and Chief Rain-in-the-Face. The Indian shaman nodded slowly. "The Forest-Listener is wise," he said. "To part would mean weakening our own strength." The chief took a deep breath. "We must care for the injured and fallen. And search for--"

He was interrupted by the boys' cheerful shouts. "Peter!"

"There they are!"

"Tink found them!"

The three men turned and saw the two bedraggled figures approaching, descending the rough stair, led by a tiny golden ball. Following them was a small (flock? army?) of dark creatures that seemed to prance, leaping from level to level, and Thalion's eyes grew wide when he recognized the company. _H'Hw did they … Firbolgs?'_

The boys and Wendy, of course, didn't waste any time on the odd new creatures – who looked so much like the pictures of the devil. They ran toward the rough stairs and tackled Peter in their joy. Laughing, he let himself get knocked down, and he felt the breath being squeezed out of him. And there was the sweet heart-shaped face before him, and a soft pair of lips gave him a loud kiss on the cheek. "Wendy?" he asked, touching his cheek and meeting her shining gaze. "What … what are you doing here?"

She giggled. "Well, someone has to patch you all up." She sat back, taking in his appearance. "You look awful."

"Well, being on the run with Hook is no picnic at the lagoon."

The girl looked up and met the forget-me-not-blue eyes, shimmering warmly for a moment before they turned back into their usual cool gaze. Oh dear, she wanted to personally tell him what had happened to his cabin as soon as she met him, but there was something else she had to do, especially after she learned in detail how Hook rescued Peter by risking his own life – again! She arose, and approached the soggy, dirty, tired man – and flung her arms around his waist. She felt him stiffening in surprise. She lifted her head and poured her gratitude into her eyes. "Thank you so much for saving him!" she whispered. "And thank you for surviving that insane exploit," she added softly.

Too surprised to say anything, Hook only nodded. He wasn't accustomed to someone actually being _grateful_ to him – to say nothing of caring about his well-being. He wasn't accustomed to finding himself in the embrace of someone who was happy to see him. He wasn't even accustomed to someone being actually physically this close to him. Before he knew what he was doing, he allowed his arms to encircle her while he looked at her. Damn, but he had … missed this – those big shining eyes and the shy smile on her beautiful face. He had missed that scent of roses she seemed to be made of, and her … her innocent flirting and sweet affection. He had… missed the compassionate warmth that flew through him whenever this girl looked at him like this.He groaned inwardly. Alas, his infamously hard heart grew soft whenever this angelic wild-kitten was involved! And he didn't know what to do about it. It just felt … too … good.

He welcomed the distraction of the approach of several long-haired men clad in leather and paint. Leading them was a very familiar face, its owner fighting his way through the chattering boys toward his captain. "Sir! I'm glad t'at ye're awright!" Smee grinned, and Hook nodded his head in acceptance, and Wendy stepped aside; her cheeks still flushed.

"Mr. Smee, it seems we have been successful."

"Aye, Sir – t'anks to Jukes and t'e Redskins."

Hook's looked about for the Indian shaman and chief. Any other time they met, Chief Rain-in-the-Face or any of his warriors would attempt to kill him. After the pirate had taken Tiger-Lily hostage, the animosity of the Indians had turned into open warfare. Seeing that that the redskins had come to their rescue was something Hook had to digest.

For a long moment the three men simply looked at each other, then Great Panther rose to speak. "Ironhand's eyes grow wide that our tribe came to aid the paleface." He made a gesture toward the green and golden glow emanating from a hidden alcove. "If enemies such as those can put aside their war in the face of a common enemy, then tall warriors must as well."

Frowning Hook moved past a cluster of columns, shoving the Lost Boys aside. He stared in astonishment at the number of fairies – it had to be the entire population of Neverland! – also near them hundreds of … it couldn't be …Pixies! (It should be noted here that, although Hook was born and raised near London, his family also kept one of their residences, a manor, in Cornwall, and it was there he became familiar with these little folk. He avoided them in Neverland whenever possible. He had never been superstitious, but many respectable grownups had told him about the little green creatures, how they misled people, playing pranks on them. He was vividly reminded of the time their stern butler told him that he had watched them dancing in the moonlight. And Mr. Fules was not a man given to gossip.)

So Hook was astounded to see not only the fairies – among them one with long golden hair and a dress woven of moonbeams (the fairy-queen, as he well knew) – but also the tiny troublemakers. He knew from old legends that the two folk were ancient enemies. But here they hung suspended – side by side, and with an uneasy acceptance of one another.

He felt movement at his side. "Isn't it wonderful?" Wendy asked quietly, and Hook nodded.

"Aye! Is this your doing?"

"No, not really," she smiled and pointed toward a little couple that sat together with an older Pixie near the stairs. "It's their doing."

The buccaneer blinked, recognizing that one of the pair was Aurora, and the other was a male Pixie. And both were looking at each other with something like adoration. Hook lifted a brow. Hadn't the rose-fairy been flirting with him only days ago? _'Well, fairies are notoriously fickle!'_

"Love will not be denied – even in the face of war!" the Indian shaman said, just over his shoulder, and Hook turned to face him.

The buccaneer beheld the shaman and then the chief before he tilted his head toward him. "Great Panther is well-known for his wisdom – a wisdom even I respect." He looked toward his crew-members, then to the many Indian warriors and finally back at their two representatives. "You saved my men?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Great Panther nodded. "Your weapons and our warriors chased the demons away." He saw the questions in the blue eyes. He sighed. "There is much to tell. Chief Rain-in-the-Face will tell you everything– and will smoke the peace-pipe with you. But be warned, Ironhand. Do not attempt to betray us, as the whites have so often done. You would not survive it."

The pirate-captain lifted a brow, inwardly amused. "Offering peace and a threat in one breath is something only a Redskin can manage," he scoffed amusedly. His glance swept the four cannons, now placed at every entrance. How had his men managed to get those damn heavy weapons up the cliffs, the mountains, and finally into the volcano so quickly? It hadn't been THAT long since the attack from the _Jolly Roger_. How could Jukes and the others be here, along with the Indians and a whole army of Pixies and fairies? Riddles he wanted answers for! "Smee? Attend me at the powwow with the Chief, then you have some important questions to answer!"

Questions! Wendy took a deep breath – now or never! – and cleared her throat. "Captain?" she asked, feeling the knot in her stomach.

He turned to her. She looked … afraid? Well, what ever it was, it had to wait. "Excuse me, kitten, but first I must seal this contract with chief Rain-in-the-Face." He shook his head. "And I'm damn curious how it has come to that!"

"But, it's important," Wendy started anew. "I know that it will … irritate you, but…"

She felt his index-finger on her lips, which sent an odd prickle down her spine, while she beheld once more the endless blue depths of his eyes. "Not now, my girl. Later." He saw Peter watching them with a wary expression, and beside him stood an excited Hobgoblin. Well, at least the children brought the walking appetite with them. He didn't want to think what might have happened to the galley if they'd left that creature aboard. Then he remembered Peter's feet. Turning toward Thalion, he asked, "Might you have something of your magical medicine here? The boy has sore feet!"

The Elf, who had been watching the changing expressions on the faces around him the whole time, nodded, but stopped Hook as he passed. "Captain?" Hook looked at him, waiting for the Elf to continue. "What you did was dangerous, foolish – and very courageous. I have rarely met a mortal who was capable of putting aside enmity and risking his own life to save a former opponent." He bowed his head toward the man. "You have earned my respect, Captain."

Hook was silent, but his face was a combination of amusement, amazement, and acknowledgement.

Then Thalion turned his attention to the Firbolgs, who had remained in the background, watching the many reunions of so many different people. "I greet the Custodians of the Fire," he smiled and bowed deeply. "Please forgive our intrusion in your depths, but we hunt a dangerous man who threatens your domain as well as all others."

Kilner trotted forward and laid one hard fist on his dark chest. "Many times has this world turned since we have seen one of the Forest-walkers. We know why you are here, and we have come to offer our help. You forest-walkers have sharp eyes and ears, but they are here not useful. Your people grow weak in our world. So we offer aid. The time was spoken and now is when all of Neverland's inhabitants must join together." The Elfish commander bowed again, murmuring his thanks, then Kilner led his clan into the main-cave.

Wendy looked at them uneasily as she approached Peter. "What are they?" she whispered. "They look like demons!"

The boy laughed. "You're right, but they're friendlier. They showed Hook and me an underground-well." He suddenly turned to her, his fists at his waist. "Two questions: What is it with you and the codfish? Did you really hug him? And what do you want to tell him so badly? And why are you _here?"_

Wendy sighed. "That was four questions, Peter. And answering the last one is a long story." She looked at his feet. "Maybe we should let Thalion have a look at your feet." She frowned. "Are they bound up in Hook's shirt?"

The eternal boy nodded, grinning. "Yes. I asked him if he didn't want it anymore, but you know him: no clear answer to a simple question."

Wendy shook her head – she could imagine _that_ conversation – and took Peter's hand; still overjoyed that he was alive and well. "Come on. Thalion can help you."

Peter controlled his curiosity at the prospect of some Elfish doctoring, and stroked the back of Wendy's hand with his thumb. He limped toward Thalion, who was waiting for him, while Hook talked with the Indians. The Pixies and fairies held a kind of council and the Firbolgs chattered with the Elves and the Hobgoblin, while the boys assembled around him and Wendy, pelting him with questions. _'What a strange collection we are,'_ he thought, and sat down on a stone; sighing with relief. And while Thalion lowered himself to dress and bandage the boy's feet, the Prince of Neverland tried to answer all her questions. He didn't even notice that he hadn't let go of Wendy's hand.

------------------------------------

Hook rubbed his eyes and finished the cup of water Smee had brought. What in blazes were those redskins smoking? They called it _kiné-kiné_, but it tasted like… like … something to do with a pig farm. He gave up, finding nothing he could compare it to, vaguely aware that he didn't WANT to remember what it tasted like. But the evil flavor had awakened the desire for some good tobacco. He tried to wash away the taste with the water – which didn't work – and gingerly leaned back on the stone at the wall. He rested here for several minutes after the 'contract' between him and the Indians had been sealed.

He listened to Billy Jukes' and Smee's gleeful report of the battle on the ship, and nodded finally. "Very good, gentlemen, I am proud of you! I shall expect a full report in the log when we return." Jukes bobbed his head, tugging at his forelock, murmured a "T'ank ya, Sir!" and exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Smee. Hook grew suspicious. He knew these two very well, and something was not right. "Anything else to report, gentlemen? Mr. Smee?" He eyed the little man sharply. Both men looked uneasy.

Smee rubbed his bearded chin, avoiding the captain's eyes. "Well, y'see, sir," he mumbled into his beard, "Billy here was more a part of it t'an I wuz, sir, bein' gunner an' all."

Hook turned to Jukes. "Mr. Jukes?"

The young man swallowed nervously. "Aw, now, Cap'n, Mr. Smee handled t'e 'ole t'ing so well, he orta tell ya aboot wha' 'appened."

A crease appeared between Hook's brows. "Mr. Smee," he repeated, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, turning to the older man.

"Aw, aye," Smee fumbled, "but Billy spent more time wi' t'e lass. 'E'd tell a better tale."

The captain's moustache began to twitch in annoyance. _'So Wendy is involved.' _"Mr. Jukes!"

"True, true," the tattooed gunman admitted, bobbing on his toes, clearly wishing he were elsewhere. "But enny uv us'll tell ya tha' Mr. Smee 'ere is t'e one 'oo keeps the cabin so neat an' clean—"

_His cabin? _"MR. SMEE!" came the responding bellow. He rose to his full imposing height. "You will be the bearer of this news – NOW!" The arch of the buccaneer's brow and the arms akimbo said volumes. Smee sighed resignedly, and gestured with a jerk of his head for Jukes to take off. Which he did more quickly than he obeyed most orders. "I am listening, Smee," he said quietly and met the unsure gaze of the old Irishman.

"Well, Sir… Where t' start? T'ere… t'ere was a sort of … of … um … incident."

"Incident?"

"Um, aye sir… accident might be the better name for it." Now completely alarmed, Hook straightened and waited as the bo'sun began his tale.

Peter looked delightedly at Great Panther and Thalion. The Elf dressed the boy's feet with the healing ointment, then bandaged them again. The Indian shaman, in the meantime, sewed a pair of moccasins for him, using the sleeves of his leather shirt. Then he cut two pieces out of his fur-lined cape and attached them as a lining. The fur cushioned every step, and Peter sighed in relief. The pain was definitely easing.

"Little White Eagle will have much farther to walk, and his feet need protection," the medicine-man smiled.

"My heartiest thanks!" Peter lifted his feet one by one to examine his new shoes. "You don't know how good they feel."

Wendy giggled. "That's the first time you've ever been happy to wear something on your feet," she teased and Peter grinned back.

"That'll change as soon as I can fly again." He sighed. "And that'll only happen when we're rid of S'Hadh. Now we have to find him again and—"

"WENDY DARLING!"

Hook's shout made the girl jump. Peter started as well. "What … what's the matter?" he asked. Wendy grew white when she saw the face of the pirate-captain, now red with anger. He ignored Smee and pointed first at her and then to the space in front of him.

"Come here! NOW!"

Peter rose and looked back and forth between the girl and the furious buccaneer. "Wendy?" he asked carefully. "What's put Hook's knickers in a twist?"

Thalion and Great Panther glanced at each other before the Elf turned toward the girl. "Child, what have you done? Until now I thought him very tolerant toward you."

Wendy didn't answer, took a deep breath and walked weak-kneed to the pirate. His blue eyes were crackling and he seemed to be close to an outburst. As she passed Cookson, she heard his gloating chuckle. "Now ye'll get what ye deserve, y' damn bitch!" The girl ignored him and walked stiffly toward Hook. She paused several yards away; her knees almost too jellied to carry her. Never before he had looked at her with this much fury, but she knew that the threatening tears would be the worst thing she could do now.

"I said: Come here!" he hissed, and suddenly Wendy felt a rough shove at her back – Cookson, had followed her! – which caused her to stumble straight into the pirate-captain's arms, which closed like iron chains around her. His eyes bored into hers. "Is it true?" he almost whispered. "Did you turn my beloved quarters into a … a battlefield?"

Wendy felt her courage dry up like a puddle in a drought, and for a moment she couldn't say a single word. Then she collected all her nerve, lifted her chin and answered: "It was not I, but the harpies."

Hook's eyes had turned into small glowing slits. "Is my cabin ruined? Yes or no?"

Wendy swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes," she whispered.

For a moment the pirate-captain said nothing, then he asked with a voice that seemed to come straight out of a grave: "What did I tell you at the Black Castle? What did I order?"

"Not to touch anything," the girl replied.

"It were t'e harpies, Sir!" Jukes dared. "T'ey intruded in yer quarters an' attacked 'er."

"Aye, Cap'n! T'at's wha' 'appened!" Cecco nodded.

Hook seemed to have not heard them. "And how would you interpret 'don't touch anything'?" he growled quietly in a voice that sent ice water into the veins of his crew.

"That's not what happened," Wendy trembled.

"Let her go, Hook!" Peter's voice was close and threatening.

Hook looked up and shot him a heated glare. "Stay out of this, boy!"

"In a raven's eye!" he shouted, limping over to them.

"If you'd like the time to contemplate your futures, shut up!" the buccaneer snarled and turned his attention back to the girl, who trembled now like a bird in a cage, now firmly held by his left hand, his hook dancing in front of her face. Determined to suppress the warm feelings for this little witch and not to weaken under her pleading eyes, he addressed her icily. "So, it was harpies. Pray tell, how came they into my cabin? Those quarters are the most secure area of the entire ship. The door and the walls are as thick as my hand is wide, and the windows are barred. Tell me how those _creatures_ managed to get into … my … rooms!" His voice had gradually risen to a roar.

Wendy was really shaking now, but she wouldn't give in! No! Never! The only thing to fight her fear down was action, and so she answered with surprisingly firm voice: "As the singers attacked your men, I played your harpsichord to chase them away."

"Go on!" he commanded sharply, as Wendy paused.

"I … they wouldn't hear the music with the door closed, so," she took another deep breath, "so I opened the door … and --"

"And quite literally invited the harpies into the cabin!" he finished, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Did you lose the rest of your tiny mind, girl?"

Once again, Wendy's temper won in her clash of feelings. "Do you really think I wanted to fight them?" she demanded; her eyes flashing. "After all we went through in our first encounter with them, I would have much preferred to avoid them, but I had no other choice! It was your cabin or your men, Captain! What decision would you have made?" She ignored the grip tightening on her arm, and met the flaming eyes.

Hook could feel everyone's eyes on him – the entire population of allies in the gallery. A quick glance around showed that they had surrounded him and the girl – even the fairies and Pixies. Damn! She had maneuvered him, forcing him to answer this question in her favor – and excuse her deeds! "Of course the welfare of my men is more important!" he growled; inwardly cursing the girl. Oh, she would pay for this, too! "But I gave you permission and clear instructions --"

"I did not want to ignore your instructions, Captain. But the harpies wouldn't listen to me when I told them to be careful with your belongings. They have no sense of propriety nor courtesy."

"How many?" he demanded.

"How many what?"

"How many harpies?"

Wendy straightened. "At first, three," she answered and saw his eyes widening, "and then two more."

Loud murmuring erupted around her, while Peter's chin dropped. Five harpies? "Fair maid fought the five most fine and fierce!" Bumblyn whispered up at the boy.

"And?" Hook prompted; ignoring the whispers around him.

"I've finished them off," the girl answered proudly, "with one of your training swords."

Hook stared at her with a new respect, while the voices around him grew louder. The fairies chimed most wondrously and the pirates who hadn't been aboard chattered to one another; taken by surprise. All the boys (except Michael and the twins, who looked forgivably smug) stared speechlessly at the girl, and then at the smallest three, while Tinker Bell dug her tiny pinky into her tiny ear, and twinkled at Aurora and Kailen, who grinned.

Hook blew out a frustrated breath. "And, along the way, turned my cabin into a battlefield!" he mumbled. He sounded somewhat mollified.

The girl bit her lower lip, suddenly very conscious of the strong hand on her, and his very masculine proximity. This made her nervous all over again; but for a different reason. "No; not all of the damage was my fault," she said.

"So you did account for some!" he concluded accusingly.

Wendy lowered her gaze for a moment and her attention was captured by the damp and dirty waistcoat and the bandage beneath it. Was that blood? Was it a new injury, or the old wounds not yet healed? It didn't matter. The man was hurt. She couldn't stand it when he was hurt, and --

"I'm waiting!" he snapped, and the girl's eyes returned to his.

Well, for the moment she wouldn't think about his injuries, instead, the fact that he might twist her neck any second. "I had not the training nor the experience that you and Peter have," she blurted, "and you know how large their wings are, flapping around in a closed room. And it was a real fight, not practice. They attacked from all sides, with their claws and wings…"

"And you fought them with my sword!" he threw in and Wendy nodded, afraid to go on. "What is NOT smashed?" he growled.

"Several things!" Oh no, that didn't calm him. Not a bit!

"For example?" he demanded impatiently and again met her wide eyes. "M … most things are still not damaged! Let me think … ah … your harpsichord and the library are still intact. Oh, and the aft-windows, with the mulled glass. Uh, most of the chairs. Well, one of them was overturned, along with your d-desk, and, uh, if I remember correctly, it has only one leg broken. One harpy used it to catapult herself toward me, you see. Several drawers were knocked out and your papers are lying around now … but they are not shredded. One of your bed pillows is torn, but the blankets are still intact. And the globe fell … but … I think it's alright. One of them knocked down your glass-covered cabinet with a wing, but only a couple of bottles and the glass door are broken. Oh, I forgot: some crockery was knocked from the table during the battle and that got smashed, too, but the china cabinet is untouched. Oh yes, the lamps are still whole, too. Well: one candle-holder got twisted because I used it as club against one of them, but I think the ship's smith can straighten it again. All right, the candlesticks fell, but they weren't lit, so that wasn't too bad. Oh, yes, I dodged one harpy and it collided with the door to your other room, and her claws left gouges in the wood, but Mr. Mullins thinks he can mend that. And your sword got stuck in one of the bookshelves when two of them came after me." She sighed. "And the big vase at the bookshelves, this one with the strange, sweet paintings, is untouched as well. You know which one I mean?"

Hook, who had listened with growing horror at what had become of his belongings, answered tonelessly, "The Ming-vase?"

Wendy lifted both brows. "I wouldn't know, sir, but the vase is still whole."

The pirate-captain swallowed hard and fought the strong urge to break the girl's neck. "Don't tell me that's all!" he sneered with biting sarcasm.

Wendy thought for a moment about it. "Yes, that's about it – as far as I can remember. Well, the dead harpies … they bled about the place … you understand?" she asked softly and hoped that he wouldn't ask her to describe the state of his carpets.

Hook closed his eyes – no, he couldn't lose his control now! Not now! – And stared after a short moment back into the dove-blue eyes, which dampened. "I am sorry, Captain," Wendy murmured, who could see the wheels turning and his blood boiling. "But it wasn't my fault. They were suddenly there! So I ran to the wall, took one of your swords, and then they attacked. Everything happened so fast." She looked aside; for a moment overtaken by the fresh memories. "I don't know … how I managed. I only did what you and Peter taught me, over and over again. And then, suddenly, the last one took me by surprise. If it hadn't been for Bumblyn, I would be dead now."

Silence had come to the great cave as those who hadn't been aboard listened in amazement the girl's story. Even Hook was impressed. This tiny tender girl had fought off five harpies? And with a decoration? On the other hand he could just about 'see red' when he pictured the destruction of so many wonderful things which had been his own. "You know what I would dearly love to do to you right now?" he growled.

Wendy dared to look back at him. "Paddle me?" she asked, her voice a squeak.

"That would far too minor a punishment!" he answered flatly and watched the still trembling girl trying very hard not to quiver in his grasp. She was so tiny, so vulnerable… Oh damn it all to hell and back! NO! He would NOT give in to his cursed soft spot for this wench. Not. This. Time. "The tally of your offenses, my dear, has grown to a frightening length! You realize this?" he tried to maintain his anger, which was – very much against his will – beginning to melt.

The girl lowered her head and bit her lips – something that pierced even his hot anger. Damn, those lips shouldn't be bitten, but fondled … _'James! Are you mad? Stop it! She is a CHILD!'_ his better half screamed inwardly – and Hook closed his eyes. There it was AGAIN; the moment he wanted nothing more than to stay angry with her, angry enough to send her to her Maker – and found himself AGAIN incapable of punishing her. He sighed. This girl had killed five of those dangerous creatures, had been ready to sacrifice herself for his men and her friends, and he was outraged because of some broken furniture and … well, considering her description, his cabin was in chaos! Ergo he had a right to be irritated with her!

"I'll put everything in order again," he heard her quavering voice and opened his eyes again.

He saw her unshed tears – a sight he had hoped to never see again – and his lust to make her pay here and now dissipated. Damn … Damn, damn, and DAMN! What foul trick was fate playing on him again? "Indeed you will!" he mustered up a firm voice. "You will repair any cursed splinter, clean every carpet, and make sure that not a single trace of your abominable behavior is left! And then I'll think of some way to punish you that will remind you forever to never disobey an order of mine ever again!"

"You will do nothing of the kind! Not because of some creaky old furniture and some stupid dishes!" Peter hollered, and placed himself beside the pirate-captain and the girl. He was still astounded by what he had heard. His Wendy had tumbled Hook's cabin into chaos, had killed five harpies and had saved the men aboard? If she weren't a girl he would give her the highest award he was able to give: he would entitle her -- a Lost Boy!

"Stupid dishes?" Hook gasped, before the vein on his temple started to pulse. "My china is Meissner porcelain, you cretin!" he shouted. "Every single plate costs more than the father of this walking disaster earns in a month!" Wendy jumped slightly, and looking up to him. She was still caught in his hand, but she knew of this very valuable porcelain from Germany. Struck anew with guilt, she lowered her gaze again.

Peter had a more practical view of this, for a change. "So?" he snapped. "It isn't as if you bought it somewhere. You stole it!"

"Captain?" Billy Jukes dared to address his commander. "We all're partly guilty as well. We heard t'e fighting noises comin' from yer quarters, but allus had 'r' 'ands full fightin' us against t'e ot'er harpies and the Alrinachs. T'ey also damaged a part of t'e deck and t'e rigging."

"T'e lass saved our lives and fought like a lioness," Albino added.

"She ain't only beautiful, but has t'e courage uv a pirate in battle!" Mullins confirmed.

"An' as t' yer personal losses, sir," Jukes continued, pulling his hat off," well, t'e ot'ers and me, we'll pay you t'e damages."

Hook wasn't sure he heard correctly, and loosened his grip on the girl and turned toward his men. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Jukes?"

"We'll pay t'e damage!" Cecco nodded.

"We still got shares uv 'r last raid," the Oriental told him.

"And we owe t'e girl!"

"I don't believe it!" the pirate-captain whispered, looked back at Wendy and took her chin. "Can you tell me how you managed to turn those dogs into knights ready to rescue the damsel in distress?"

Wendy tried a wobbly smile, a single tear escaping, her heart full of gratitude for the men she'd fought alongside. Never had she thought that the crew would stand up for her. But there they were, all the men who had been with her aboard, speaking up on her behalf. The feeling that woke in her was almost too much. She had feared that Hook would slit her throat, but even if he was more than just angry, he hadn't hurt her. And then the crew … "Perhaps it is simply their honor as pirates that have prompted them make this decision," she whispered – and saw that the murderous wrath in Hook's eyes had vanished.

Peter had to giggle at the change on the face of his old enemy. Never before he had seen Hook looking as baffled as he did now. "Huh, first you get me to talk like you do, Hooky, and now your men turn into gentlemen. You're a bad influence, Captain."

"Stow it, Pan," the buccaneer snapped back.

"But, if ye t'ink about it, Cap'n, it were a compliment!" Smee tried to ease his commander's mood.

"And, Sir, if our Red-handed Jill hadn't played yer harpsichord--" Jukes began anew.

"And t'e Missy plays beau'iful!" Cecco tossed in; ignoring the sharp gaze of his captain.

"-- and didn't scare away the Alrinachs," Billy continued, "we'd allus be dead by now and not able to come wit' the cannons to yer aid, sir."

"And t'en we ain't never woulda met t'e Indians and fairies, 'oo helped us a lot!" the Oriental nodded.

"An' t'e fight would've turned a lot different," Skylight said.

"And t'en t'ose damn Goblins would've hunted ye and t'e boy down, Cap'n!"

"And so, if'n ye take it all into account, sir, t'e girl saved yerself, too, saved the 'ole mission!" Jukes finished the appeal.

Hook had released Wendy, closed his eyes, and more or less listened to the shower of testimony from his men. He sighed deeply. And to his horror, he felt something tugging at his mouth – something that didn't fit the image of the grim, fierce, unforgiving pirate-captain. It was a smile. He managed to twist it into something more familiar. "In other words, our beauty is the hero of the day!" he sneered.

Wendy blushed, rubbing her upper arm, wondering how bad the bruise would be. "I think that isn't completely the case, but…"

"But Wendy, you ARE the hero!" Peter smiled, and flung an arm around her shoulder. "I'm really proud of you!"

"Of course you are!" Hook snorted and fixed the girl again with a piercing look. "You'll put everything back in order! Everything!"

Wendy nodded. "Of course. I've promised this already --"

"Don't speak to me of promises!" he grumbled.

Wendy giggled nervously while she fought the sudden urge to throw her arms around him in gratitude and warmth. With trembling fingers she dashed the unwelcome tears away, which were now more out of relief than fright.

Hook pressed his lips shut. There! It happened again! His anger had cooled and something in him was touched when he saw her tears. What the devil was it with this damn little snip of a female? She could incite his wrath with her actions – and the only thing he could do to her was scold her – and fight that urge to comfort her as soon as she shed a single tear. He needed to get control of himself very soon, or he would be lost! "And when you're done with my quarters, we'll address some of the other things you need to learn!" he added – more to convince himself.

"We help you!" Billy Jukes smiled at her. "We already offered ye our help!"

"Ye'll see: we c'n fix anyt'ing in the capt'n's quarters," Mullins grinned.

"I repair the desk and t'e door."

"And I'll take care of the carpets. My people know how to handle carpets!" the Oriental reassured her.

"And I'll sort the cap'n's papers," Smee added, and smiled kindly at her.

"Are you pirates or parlour maids?" Hook snapped at them.

"Pirates, Cap'n!" they grinned.

"With honor!"

"We giv' 'er our word!"

"Aw, 'ave a 'eart, sir. She's jus' a wee thing!"

"She needs a hand or two!"

"She's no experience wi' wood."

"How would she carry t'e heavy carpets? They can't fly like in them stories."

Hook moaned and rubbed his scruff, hearing Smee and all the boys giggling. "I don't believe any of this!" he repeated and shot a dark glare at the shyly smiling Wendy. How she had succeeded in winning all of his men to her side was a riddle for him (well, it seemed that Cookson was still the exception). And he refused to consider the reason why he lost his flaming ire toward her again. "Girl, someday you'll kill me for real!" he whispered.

TBC…

Dear Readers,

Thank you so much for all the nice and loooong reviews. I don't know how to tell you all how glad and grateful I am for all those nice words.

Well, at last everything seems to work out nicely after the allies are now united again. But still Neverland is on the stake - and S'Hadh will be up to more; be sure of it. The next chapter will not be published before the next week, because my friend and beta-reader is now on a one-week-vacation. So please be patient.

Regarding my planned PotC-Story: Author's note and the prologue is almost complete beta-readed by Kittie and I've finished now chapter 3. But Kittie will be off to collegue tomorrow and will not find so much time to have a closer look on my (believe me!) not so pleasant grammar. And Cheetah is still busy with "Battle for Neverland". So if anyone have interest / time / to help me until Cheetah will be done with BoN (I think 8 weeks more) to get the first chapters of the PotC-story published, I would really be glad. Please contact me under Lywhn-von-der-Enggmx.de. I would love to hear from you.

Lywhn


	34. The Breaking of the Fellowship

Dear readers,

I am sorry that it took so long this time, but my dear friend and beta-reader was on holiday, and I really didn't want to shock you with a chapter full of errors. But now, at last, here comes the next chapter. Enjoy!

**Chapter 33 - The Breaking of the Fellowship**

Wendy went to each of the men and thanked them individually for standing up for her, and each found himself, once again, caught up in her dove-blues, remembering sweethearts, little sisters, wives they had lost or left behind. (There was still quite a bit of subdued discussion regarding her battle prowess and surprising victory.)

Kailen finally settled on a stone in a corner, and waved at Aurora to, please, join him. Both were very conscious of the apprehensive, guarded looks of both their peoples, but they didn't care, having other concerns ... such as finding that wizard! The Elves were masters at moving silently, melting with their surroundings, but the enemy would be even more careful now, especially after S'Hadh had been injured. The two little allies were convinced that neither Thalion nor Peter nor Hook would ever manage to get close again.

"This is only the beginning," Aurora murmured and rubbed a nasty bruise on her left upper arm. One Goblin club had grazed her and, if not for Kailen's lightning reflexes, she would be dead. But, of course, she would never admit this!

"Not find him they will," the pixie nodded grimly, then cocked his head. His brown-green eyes narrowed. "Not look good does this!" he pointed at her arm and she lifted a brow.

"Nothing to concern you, pixie!"

He shrugged. "Still wait for your thanks I do, fairy!" he answered dryly.

Aurora stared. "For what?

"You I saved. Again."

"You're saying you saved me?" she gasped; eyes wide, clearly affronted.

Kailen sighed and rose. "Look, danger we faced as one. Our folks we called and following our call they did. Side by side fought pixies and fairies. Laying aside an old enmity can we not?"

Aurora bit her lips, closing her eyes a moment before she said: "What could not be, cannot be. We are two ships passing – and we must pass! You should learn a lesson from the pirates. After weeks at sea, they are glad just to meet another crew. And aren't we better than they?" The rose-fairy met his soft pleading look. It was true, no matter how much she wished it weren't. Kailen had saved her life. Three times. And that her queen and the pixie-king had put aside ancient hostility, joining together against the evil threatening their home, was an example she should follow.

She thought back to the moment when she and Kailen had left with the humans and two Elves. The old pirate with the grey beard (what did they call him? Smee? such a curious name) and the Indian chief and shaman had spoken together in short phrases, each watching the other's weapon hand, while the human girl tried to 'pour oil on troubled waters' – which Aurora admired intensely. Females have always been the better diplomats; of that she was convinced (even if she was not herself.) And then she had declared that she would fly to her folk to ask for help, and Kailen had done the same. Even the much-respected Indian elder, Great Panther, had been staggered, and had nodded at them, mouth serious but eyes smiling, as only an Indian could. And Aurora had been more surprised when Kailen had insisted on accompanying her. And it had taken her by surprise. "The way through the woods dangerous it is!" he stated firmly, and had not left her side.

Oh, how shocked the fairy-guards had been as she arrived with a pixie! She'd needed all her persuasive talents to prevent them from attacking Kailen. And then the look on the face of Niam, the fairy-queen … well! She'd greeted Kailen in a coldly regal manner, and listened to Aurora's tale. And, as the rose-fairy had to admit, Niam's decision to send their whole 'army' to the eternal boy's aid had come only after Kailen boldly declared that all of the pixie folk would come to the aid of the Prince of Neverland as soon as they knew of the need. Well, a fairy would never stand second to a pixie, and so Niam herself had agreed to come with them. It had been quite a coup on their part.

The next step had been to convince the pixie-king to join them. Laird Gagdh had been on alert as his guards told him that Niam, several of her court, a rose-fairy and one of his own clan waited to speak with him. He didn't know Kailen – only by reputation, that he was different from the other young pixies and his family. He had only met him once or twice, but he had felt that there was something special in the youth – like an ancient valor no one could explain.

It was the first time that he and Niam had spoken together and, he grudgingly admitted, she was not only the glorious beauty the whole of Neverland spoke of, she was also wise. Nonetheless, he was shocked when he was told that his own folk should help the mortals to fight against the dark wizard who came against Neverland. Then he learned that the whispered rumors that Elves were on the magical island were, in fact, true. And as he heard that the little Prince of Neverland desperately needed help, the human boy he admired for his mischievous, cheerful and careless spirit, he had agreed to help. Of COURSE they would help. He didn't miss the secret glances Kailen and that arrogant rose-fairy, Aurora, exchanged, and it worried him. But there was no time to think of it further. Not now!

And so it came to be that the fairies gave their dust to the allies, assisting to transport the heavy weapons. They and the pixies carried them all high into the mountains, to a side entrance of the fire-mountain. Additionally, Pixies and fairies fought side by side, supporting men, children and Elves – something that had never happened before. And both leaders – Niam as well as Gagdh – felt a new hope lodge deep in their enormous hearts that this would be the beginning of a new future for these ancient enemies.

Perhaps as tolerant neighbors.

Perhaps as good friends.

"Aurora?" The rose-fairy was called out of her thoughts as Kailen touched gently her shoulder. "With us you still are?"

"Ahhh," she murmured. "My thoughts were harkening back to how we convinced your king and my queen to join this outrageous heap of allies and – what?" she interrupted herself, as she saw the happy expression on the pixie's face.

" 'We' said you!" he whispered, and there was something in his large eyes that sent a shiver down her back to her toes, and back up to her wings, causing them to flutter.

"Well, it was just you and I in this very unique time and…" she began and turned away, lifting her head proudly. She gasped as a cool strong hand spun her to face him, and she found herself in the (surprisingly) strong arms of Kailen. She raised her eyes to his – and it occurred to her again that he wasn't … that … bad-looking. For a pixie …

"Right are you. Together have our leaders come. No need to repeat to them our appeal," he said softly. "Proud are they. Examples are they."

Aurora swallowed and sensed with some surprise how her body melted into his. After all the horrors and they'd faced – something no fairy should go through – she felt a strange yearning to be close to him, to find security in his strong arms. And he smelled good, like sandalwood, grass. A newborn fawn. And earth … the scent of the earth on the first warm spring-days … after a long hard winter... Blushing she cleared her throat, while her wings twitched. "We have followed their example. We have fought side by side and renounced enmity."

Kailen smiled – but resolutely; so different from his usual smirk that it took Aurora quite by surprise. "Aye. But partners have they. Not as we are they."

Aurora felt her mouth going dry. The feeling of his arms around her was too delicious. This was not allowed for a fairy! – and obviously for a pixie – to feel like this! Something from her past kept niggling at her to wriggle free, to slap him and to scream into his sweet green face with the upturned nose that she hated him-- would always hate him-- that they couldn't be that something she want—

NO! No no no no NO! She did NOT want to be with him! No! Not ever! And the only thing she could do was to stare at his soft, wide lips and wonder how it would feel pressing upon hers …

"Nimbly numble niggins I knew it!"

Startled, both released the other – Aurora only now realizing that she had wrapped her arms about Kailen. "Bustlin' barnacles, what a bitter blow for Esteban!" Bumblyn giggled. "And he thought to change the charming green champion into a sailor, who'd sell out to seamanship, and swear off the lasses!"

Both Kailen and Aurora now blushed furiously, but the pixie quickly recovered. "Klabautermann is he. What knows he about love?" he blurted. Only as he had said it did he catch the importance of his words.

Aurora stared at him – and suddenly her large eyes filled with tears. With a sob, she took the air and shot away like a golden pink comet. "Aurora! Wait! Aurora!" Kailen screamed after her, but she vanished before he could follow.

Bumblyn made a contrite face. "Sorry!" he murmured, and the pixie's head drooped.

"Not your fault is it." He slapped his own face. "If only silent I could stay!" He sighed deeply, once again in the grip of melancholy, and felt the tears beginning at the corners of his eyes. But no! He was, after all, a pixie – and "pixies do not weep," as his mother told him so many times. But he _wanted_ to break down and bawl like a hungry calf. It had felt so wonderful to have her arms around him and to look down in those ebony eyes of hers. How fragile she was, so soft - And then her scent … cinnamon, roses — Dashing away the rising tears he turned, straightening his shoulders. "Win her will I, no matter what!" he swore, his tiny mouth pressed together.

Bumblyn sat down beside him, kneading his tail. "And the fairy folk and pixie people? What portends in those political parts?"

The pixie looked up at him, his face resolute and firm. "Not my care! Everywhere makes a place for love. Builds bridges. In Neverland especially!"

Bumblyn sighed. "I have a high and hallowed hope for you'n's, and --" He interrupted himself, as a sudden stir spread among the Firbolgs. "What has happened?"

Kailen, finally distracted, turned toward the dark creatures. "Agitated indeed!" he nodded, and took the air. The one-handed captain and his 'shadow' – the older pirate – and Thalion moved toward the Firbolgs, followed by the eternal boy and his friends, the girl (whom both sprites adored) and the Indians. Kailen and Bumblyn drew nearer as the murmurs increased. Something had happened. Something important!

Peter was staring at Kilner, now rapidly conversing with another Firbolg who had just arrived. None of the allies understood their harsh language (which sounded to them like two stones rubbing together) but they could tell that something had happened. It was difficult to read expression on their dark flat faces – their demonic appearance still made the others uneasy – but even the most foolish pirate could tell they were nervous.

Finally, Kilner gestured at the newcomer – who responded by bowing – and cantered toward the other leaders. He looked at Hook, Peter and Thalion, at Chief Rain-in-the-Face and Niam and Gagdh, before he cleared his throat: "The dark wizard has survived the attack of the one-handed man."

Hook swore beneath his breath and exchanged a short glance with Peter, who nodded. Yes, they both had thought so. "His servants took him to safety. But he knew his end is near." He pointed at Hook's sash, where Celeb-Valar still hung. "The wood-walker's weapon has injured him deeply. His life-energy poured through the wound and away from him." He saw the look of relief on Peter's face and walked with clicking hooves to him. He stretched one hand out to him, but didn't touch him. The white bandage Thalion had wrapped around the boy's left hand was warning enough. "But he retains enough vitality to waken that what should stay asleep," Kilner said tensed – and almost softy, as soft as his kind could speak.

Peter's face lost all color. "What do you mean?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Before the Firbolg could retort something a low, dangerous growl ran through the volcano, accompanied by a shiver.

"The Dark One cannot have what he desires. So he prefers to see it destroyed." Peter paled further, and momentarily grew so sick at the news that he swayed. He felt the warm, strong hand of the pirate-captain grasping his arm and steadying him. Another tremble raced through the mountain, and several of the allies shouted in rising fright.

"Peter?" Hook had pulled the boy nearer and supported him. The Prince of Neverland was white as a sheet, the shadows beneath his eyes standing out even in that light. "Pan? Stay here with us!" The buccaneer shook him carefully.

Peter's eyes cleared, and looked around, disoriented, before he noticed that Hook held him and that the temperature was rising. And then Kilner's word rang in his ears. "-- So he prefers to see it destroyed--" and "--to waken that what should stay asleep --". Peter knew what Kilner meant. "The volcano!" he whispered. "He wakens the volcano!" he shouted, wriggled free from the supporting arm of the pirate and whirled around to his friends. "We have to stop him. NOW! If we fail, Neverland will die! We have to--"

"Pan, just try for once to think through!" Hook snapped. "We don't know where he is and we must find and defeat his servants!" Thalion nodded in agreement.

Peter glared at them – typical grownups: all pessimists! He glanced at Tink and Thalion. "You both saw him carried away, didn't you?" he asked, remembering what they told him a short time ago. Elf and fairy nodded. "Well, then we follow him and --"

Kilner pounded the tip of his trident onto the ground. "Would one of you tall ones listen to me?" he growled impatiently. The three again turned toward him and nodded, so he continued: "He only can waken the Mount of No Return there, where fire and air are meeting. And he is on the way to this place – carried by his servants." He pointed at the Firbolg who had emerged only several minutes ago. "Gridnik has observed them. They are on their way up to the top of the mountain."

For a moment everyone was shocked, then the life returned into Peter, Hook and Thalion in one and the same moment. "Lost Boys, to me!"

"Dogs! To my side!"

"_TULA sinomé!"_

In no time the Lost Boys stood behind Peter, the pirates were behind their commander and the surviving Elves lined up behind their leader. The pixies soared toward Laird Gagdh and the fairies built a circle around Niam. Yes, the Elves, pirates, pixies and fairies were trained as soldiers, but that the children were ready to face any battle was remarkable. Peter looked up to Hook, who glanced with lifted eyebrows and a clearly surprised expression at the boys and the girl. Well, they knew what they were doing.

Then he frowned. Wendy stood there as well?

"You will not join the fight, my beauty!"

Wendy stared at him and lifted her chin. "Excuse me, Captain, but I don't think that it is up to you to decide."

_Brimstone and gall, this girl was getting on every nerve_! "By Jove's favorite wine cup, it certainly IS up to me, and I will not allow you to take part in any of this!" he growled, moving toward her; ignoring Peter's protest.

Before Wendy could retort, Kilner attracted everyone to his small but very impressive person. "The seething heat is rising. Before long your blood will cook in your bodies! And you are accustomed to the cold. You must leave. Now! Or you will all die in the coming heat."

As if to emphasize his words, the volcano shook again, an odd hissing in the air. The temperature rose again, while the constant stink of brimstone – something the allies had grown used to by now – increased. Suddenly, it dawned on them all that they were lingering inside a very restless volcano. Normally, you would want to be miles away from an eruption, and even then you might not be out of danger. And they were _inside_ it!

For an instant, panic threatened them – the instinct for survival demanding that they be far away from a fire you can't control – and nothing could be more out of control than an active volcano! It could tear apart the island, or simply smoke for years. It could cause earthquakes or tidal waves. It could darken the skies for weeks and turn clear, fresh rain into grey disgusting sludge. And it could burn its way through ancient forests and turn land into fluid that carved its way toward the valleys and hissed violently into the sea. It could destroy towns within minutes or days – quickly and mercifully, or slowly and cruelly. It could tear apart a land and kill thousands. And… and it can enrich the earth and change it from rough ground into a fertile arable land. There, where lava once destroyed forests, new trees grow to pierce the sky. Its content can offer millions of sea-creatures new home. Its ashes fertilize deserts. Volcanoes had changed the face of the Earth, and would continue to change it until the end of the age.

But right now, this geologic mechanism was nothing more than a mortal danger.

Thalion made a decision – clear, precise, logical, Elf-like! "Everything or nothing. You, Peter, Captain Hook, pirates and Elves, follow me into the tunnel after S'Hadh. We have no time to plot how to get him in front of our swords. We must follow him, and more quickly. The others – the copper-skinned warriors, the children and the fighters of the Little Folk – shall find the surface. The risk of death here is too high."

"NO!" Wendy's voice cut through. "I will not retreat again! I am here now and I will not be driven away!"

A moment later, she was yanked around to face a heated James Hook. "You will leave this deathtrap, Wendy Darling, and you'll care that the injured men of my crew and the wounded Elves will reach the _Jolly Roger_. It won't help if we all get killed!"

"But--"

"NO buts this time, Miss Grouch," he interrupted her sharply. "You'll go straight this way back with the redskins, fairies, pixies and my men. And you'll take the other boys with you!" His manner allowed no contradiction. "And if I see your sweet self near this mountain again, wildcat, you will learn what it means to disobey a direct order of James Hook! Have I made myself clear?"

His eyes seemed to crackle with authority, and he looked at her so grimly that she almost wanted to run away – for a moment. Then she saw Peter's face – appalled and disbelieving, staring at his nemesis – and took a deep breath. No, she was not afraid of him and she would not wither! "I appreciate your concern, Captain. But if the volcano erupts, we'll never manage to get out in time. We can stay here with you and the others and --"

His grip around her arm tightened and she winced. "And there you are wrong, my hearty. You and the others will be able to reach safety before it does its worst!" His gaze fixed Smee. Before he died in this bloody volcano, there were a couple things he had to handle, and Smee was the only one he trusted completely to fulfill his orders. He spoke quickly. "You go with her. As soon as you all reach the _Jolly Roger_, set the sails. If it erupts, lava might melt the ice. Set course away from the island. We have provisions aboard, and I'm certain that you will not only reach open sea, but an habitable island as well. Try to find a way to send the children safely back to London and then--" he took a deep breath, "the _Jolly Roger_ is yours!"

Smee swallowed. He was too old to captain a ship. Yes, he had learned a lot from his commander, and had enough experience to sail the ship to safety, but he would never be able to be a true captain. And there was something else. "An' wot about you, Sir?"

Hook snorted. "If this mountain goes, there will be nothing left of any of us. Drink a rum to my memory!"

Peter was listening with a strange feeling in his stomach. He'd never liked Hook; had even learned to hate him (and to fear him – sometimes), but now he was shocked that the pirate-captain seemed to be ready to send his beloved ship away only to save a portion of his crew, strange warriors and the Lost Boys. And Wendy. He was ready to stay behind to give them a chance to escape certain death. _'What is happening to the man?'_ he wondered. This disparate behavior didn't fit the picture he had of the pirate-captain. But, as a little voice whispered, this change had begun awhile ago. He had made decisions which were completely atypical for him –in Peter's eyes – and so this one was only the latest in a series. And he didn't understand it.

Wendy gulped air, despair in her large eyes. "But… but we can't go without you and the others! We--"

"Who stands behind, stays behind! That a part of our code, Red-handed Jill," he interrupted her firmly. "You know enough of pirates to give yourself a pirate-name – so act like one!"

"I am NOT a pirate! And if you truly intend to follow this … this miserable code, then you would have never ever risked your life to save Peter or me!"

Suddenly, she found herself whipped around, his arm about her waist, her back pressed against the large warm body of the pirate-captain, his mouth at her ear; his breath a hot tingling on her skin – strange and alarming, but not unpleasant: "Run, little girl," a low whisper breathed in her ear, "or I'll give you a painful reason to run! And should this mountain explode, you might sometimes think back on James Hook, who cares for you enough to stay behind." For a moment his mouth touched her cheek as he gave in into his desire, and the only possible chance to kiss her. She was a child; forbidden to him for now, but it was not dishonorable to press a kiss to her cheek. It was harmless – and energy pulsed through him. For a moment, he longed with all his heart that she were older, that there were a chance he might survive this situation and win her. But, for now, it was enough to smell her sweet scent and feel her silk skin on his lips. If he were going to face certain death, then was this a last request he could fulfill himself.

Wendy gasped. His lips were soft and warm, and his beard a prickly tickle. Her father had kissed her on the cheek many times, but it was nothing like _this_. It woke an odd tingling in her belly and sent a strange shiver through her whole being – frightening, strange, but also intimately familiar in a way she wasn't able to describe.

Then he pushed her roughly away, before he barked: "Mr. Jukes? You and Mr. Cecco will accompany the children. Take Skylight, Bollard, Mullins, Cookson and Albino as well as thirty of our men with you. They know their duty. Try to find our injured. They are outside of this mountain in a storage area and will need help! Smee? I trust you with the lives of the others! You have always been loyal to me, and I know that you will not disappoint me!" He didn't pause to see that the old man's eyes filled with tears, as he turned toward the Indians, who now stared at him.

It was rare that one of the Natives showed surprise – but those were perplexed. None of them had imagined that the one-handed paleface was capable of magnanimity. "Chief?" Hook continued, ignoring Peter's attempt to speak with him. There was no time for discussion – or the boy's jealousy (which he could clearly read on the youthful face.) They had to act NOW, or everyone would die. "Your warriors have wives and children who will need their husbands and fathers to survive. Find a way out of this hell, and take the fairies and pixies with you. You need their flying skills to put distance between you and the volcano. The Elves, Pan and I, the rest of my crew will try to find the warlock and finish him off!" He had to raise his voice now to shout above the increasing noise.

Chief Rain-in-the-Face nodded. "I will send the oldest and youngest of our warriors to remove our squaws and papooses. If Ironhand allows, they will seek shelter on his great canoe as well and settle down on another island. We will not flee this danger. If we face the Great Spirit before this is finished, then we will stand before Him with the knowledge that our tribe has survived."

Hook lifted a brow – and nodded approval. This was no longer just a matter of only pirates and island-inhabitants, but a matter of survival. And, he admitted to himself, he had always respected how the Natives lived in the strange and sometimes dangerous world of Neverland. "The _Jolly Roger_ is large and the food is plentiful. So your people are welcome." He glanced over at Smee. "Take care that you set them ashore to make a new home – should it come to the worst in Neverland!"

"And we'll stay with you, Peter!" Slightly offered. "We won't --"

Another tremor shook the mountain; this time jarring many of them off their feet. Peter sat up and examined a new scrape on his leg – he was so full of them that one more really didn't matter. He exchanged a quick glance with Hook (he'd have a word with him later – giving Wendy a thimble! Really! Who did this pirate think he was?) then to Thalion and Kilner, knocked to his bottom – clearly baffled by his position. It didn't happen often. "Do you know the way to S'Hadh's hiding place?" he asked, and the little creature nodded, rising.

Resolutely Peter stood up as well, climbing a rock to see the entire group. "I hate admit it," he told his friends, "but Hook is right." He heard the buccaneer snort, and grinned inwardly. "We won't need as many, for most of his servants are dead or gone. Hook has the Elf-sword," he pointed at the man, "and all we need is to get close to him." His voice rose as every one of his friends raised a fuss, as well as several pirates and a couple of the Indians. "Of course you can join us, but you face unnecessary risk." He straightened, the leader now, and they could easily overlook his youthful appearance. "You've fought bravely. And without you all, we wouldn't standing here now." His gaze darted from one group to the other. "We are all friends now, trying to save the land we call home," he looked at the Elves, "or to save a land that isn't your home, but you find worthy enough to fight for. But to remain in unnecessary danger would be foolish. Try to save those who need still your help. And save yourself. However this battle ends – there must still be those who live to dream of this land!"

He walked swiftly between the allies, shaking hands and meeting their eyes, then looking toward the pixies and fairies – two folk who would have never exchanged a civil word with one another if not for this crisis. Then he was among the Elves – extraordinary warriors from far away. They never aged, but could be killed, which many of them had, to help him and his friends. Those shining beings, with the gentleness of a morning mist and the fierce spirit of a thunderstorm, had supported him and his friends in this most difficult situation. Then the Indians – the only grownups allowed on the island. He had often sat with them around the camp-fire, had hunted with them together the great buffalo and had danced to their drums. He had found an open tepee whenever he needed a warm place to slip into. He laughed with their children in the woods and on the beach. And then the pirates – how odd that those men, who might have previously killed him on sight, had risked so much to help him and his friends! He knew that he himself had been anything but kind toward them, and the burden of guilt he bore for cutting off their captain's hand was heavy. They were warriors as well; men who had abandoned the familiar and safe to be free, to find their fortune. They were fierce fighters, merciless and brutal, but under all that, kindly people who laughed, sang and danced. He had seen their yearning looks toward the open sea and heard them chuckling when they watched the dolphins dance. They weren't that bad. They were still, after all, men, and knew joy and pain even as he did Even though bitter enemies, Peter was proud to count them his allies.

Next moment, he took another deep breath and continued. "The captain was right – the enemy will believe that we've run from his threat. And you have the chance to make a difference in this world." He looked to the Lost Boys and the two brothers – and added firmly. "There must be those who remember Neverland, who tell our adventures and renew belief in magic and fairies again, opposing S'Hadh's weapon of fear." He stopped before Wendy and looked deep into her dove-blue eyes. They both felt the importance of this moment. "And there must be someone who tells the stories," Peter said in an almost gentle tone that was so completely out of character for him that it startled all who heard. But he felt that this could be his last chance to speak with the girl that had captured his boyish heart. "The stories are the seed of dreams, as Giliath said," he continued, "and you, Wendy Lady, are a storyteller. Your stories will keep the dreams alive." He bent forward and – to everyone's amazement – pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. This time not even Tink protested. "You will tell stories about ME – the boy who never grew up. It will help other children to remain young, no matter what the grownups are doing. Tell my story." His gaze found the tall figure of the pirate-captain, who stared at him with a strange expression. "And tell the story of James Hook. Every story needs a villain." He smiled at the captain. "Do it and I will live, even if Neverland and I are destroyed." Utter silence hung over the cave, disturbed only by the low growls of the volcano.

Then a muffled sob sounded in his ear as Wendy wrapped her arms around the boy. She wasn't naïve, knowing this could be the final good-bye. In fact, they would all probably die. She once had called him "only a boy" and Neverland his "biggest pretend." But both were more than that now. Peter was not only a boyish hero, who fought cheerfully and with unforgiving carelessness. No. He was the centre of people's memory of their own childhood. Someone who cared - loved! – enough to give his life for his friends! _'Oh my,' _she wondered, _'where did he learn that?'_

He really was the Prince of Neverland.

And Wendy didn't want to lose him.

Peter had taken all the wind from her sails with his little speech. She had to leave – even if it meant losing him. But she must tell his story to people around the world. She had to make them remember who they were as children, that nothing on Earth was stronger than love, friendship, loyalty! That even an outcast like a pirate could be a good man if given a chance!

Peter sat on his heels, bringing his eyes level with Bumblyn, who was holding on to her leggings; his large eyes wet. Peter smiled. "You are a loyal friend. I know that your debt has been paid, but please look after her for me."

The diminutive fellow stared at him, nodded, pulled a huge handkerchief out his doublet and blew his big nose with a trumpeting sound. "Bright and shining sure I am to stay at her side," he sniffled and Peter ruffled this wool-like hair.

"I knew it!" Then he rose, looked one last time at Wendy, who suddenly leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "You still have my tear. Give it back to me afterward!" she whispered, and she patted the little pouch at his belt.

"I know!" he smirked, but even he could hear the slight tremble in his voice. He quickly turned and joined Thalion, ready to face the final battle.

Wendy caught her lower lip between her white teeth as she watched him vanish between the Elves. Then Hook was momentarily before her, the forget-me-not-blue depths focused on her, and she gave in to the longing to be near this dangerous remarkable man. She walked to him, her eyes never leaving his – eyes that entranced her from the very beginning, the eyes she adored, that revealed the man behind the cold mask he wore of a merciless buccaneer. _'You'll die alone and unloved – just like me!'_ his voice echoed in her memory, and surrendering to her sudden impulse she waved at him to bend down. He warily obeyed, half expecting her to beg him to take her with them – And then his breath caught in his throat as she touched one hand on his cheek, then gave him a quick kiss on the other one. "I will await for your return to inspect your quarters – and punish me appropriately!" she whispered – and turned and left, leaving behind an astonished pirate.

Hook's gaze followed her slim figure as she disappeared between the Indians, followed by a chattering Hobgoblin and the most of the boys. Then his hand touched the spot on his cheek where he could still feel the warmth of her lips. She had given him a kiss – a 'thimble' – and for a moment … he could have wept. No one had shown him affection for … for an eternity. He couldn't remember when he had ever received something so pure, so innocent as that impulsive kiss on the cheek. Yes, he had courted girls when he was younger. And as a sailor and successful pirate-captain, he had lasses pining for him in every harbor, but this was completely different. This hadn't come out of negotiation, nor for money, but a true, impulsive gesture from the heart!

Suddenly he knew that he could defeat S'Hadh – and he knew why the boy had grown out of himself, beyond himself when she had 'thimbled' him on his ship all those weeks ago. Yes, a kiss was a most powerful thing, and in this moment it gave him more strength than the Elfish sword ever could.

He swung around caught the attention of Thalion, his Elves and Peter (who hadn't seen Wendy's act of affection.) Every scrap of fatigue was gone, and he suddenly felt younger than he had in a long time. The fire of life and courage sparkled in his eyes and the challenge of an approaching battle rushed through his veins. "Ready to squash that wizard underfoot, gentlemen?" he asked forcefully. He was answered by an enthusiastic shout from his crew, and marched firmly toward the tunnel in which their quarry had fled.

Peter stared after him. "Can someone tell me what happened to him?"

Slightly shook his head. "Not me. But I like him better this way."

"Aye!" Nibs nodded and slapped Peter's shoulder. "Just send that old demon back to the devil and come back in one piece, all right? We need you!"

John nodded. "Yes, Nibs is right. Come back to us."

They saw how Peter was watching Wendy, who stood beside Tiger-Lily and wiped a tear away. "Why did Hook thimble her?" he whispered, and the three other boys exchanged a quick glance with each other. They knew him and could see that he was confused.

"That's easy." Slightly took the situation in hand, knowing perfectly well that the alliance must avoid any kind of strife. "It's clear he forgave her for wrecking his cabin."

Peter lifted a brow – his childish heart wanting to believe Slightly's explanation. "You think so?"

His friend nodded, "Of course!"

The Prince of Neverland grinned. "Well, if the codfish is so easy to mollify in the future, I think I know a few new jokes I can test on him."

The three boys giggled. They all had plenty of imagination. "Are you sure you're going alone?" Nibs asked, and Peter nodded.

"Got to. Remember the prophecy? 'If the enemy helps the enemy and If young and old are going the same way, Then the dark one has to fall.' Maybe it really means only me and Hook."

"Hook and you!" John corrected and earned a jostling from both sides.

"Be careful!" Slightly murmured and embraced his friend quickly.

Peter stiffened in surprise, before he awkwardly returned the gesture, unaccustomed to such demonstrations of friendship. But as Nibs and John followed Slightly's example, he grinned –and then his other friends did the same. As he released Michael, the last of the heart-touching embraces, his gaze found Tinker Bell, who hung above him. "Tink, I trust you with the lives of my friends. Take care that they reach the _Jolly Roger,_ and look after Wendy. She is, after all, just a girl!" He shook his head at her pleading gaze. He knew that she wanted to accompany him, but he needed her in another matter. "Please, Tink," he added softly. "You once brought me to Neverland and taught me so much that I'm surprised my head hasn't exploded. But right now, I need a favor: Save my friends and Wendy. I know they'll need help from the little folk to reach the ship. Please, Tink, do it for me."

The golden fairy gazed silently down on the eternal boy. Her tiny heart loved him so much that for one precarious moment, she was certain the little thing would burst. He was the perfect mixture of a normal child … and one able to see and to read others with his heart and soul. Which made him the perfect choice for building unity with the other magical folks – a kind of go-between, connection, or whatever you like, between worlds, able to bring the realms together. And if this battle did end with his death, then Tink was the last person to disregard his final request. And, of course, she would do anything to turn the tables that she could! She nodded and flew down to him; giving him a gentle kiss on the nose.

Peter smiled at her and murmured, "Thank you for all you've done for me!" Then he grinned at his friends, said a cheerful, "See you soon!" and followed Hook and his pirates, who had already started down the tunnel, passing Thalion and the remaining Elves, vanishing in the red twilight of the volcano.

Nibs, Slightly and John joined the others, and were relieved to see Nihal and two other Elves, who would accompany them. Then John felt a soft hand touch his – surprisingly chill, considering the heat in the cave. He looked up to see Tiger-Lily, who smiled weakly at him. "I'll protect you!" he whispered and gave her a reassuring smile, even if his heart hung somewhere around his knees. The Indian girl looked up at him with a grim confidence. "Tiger-Lily believes you!" she whispered.

Wendy watched the departing backs of Peter and Hook; a single tear rolling down her cheek. And then she prayed with all her might that she would see both again.

---------------------------

"I never thought it could be so unpleasant inside a mountain!" Peter grumbled, climbing over some bigger stones. Yes, the moccasins helped, but not enough. The leather was soft and even the fur soles couldn't make this walk an easy one. Every step was hard.

"Unpleasant?" Hook echoed beside him, while he wiped the sweat from his eyes. "Has anyone told you that you have a talent for understatement?"

"Huh," Peter responded humorlessly, glancing down at Kilner, who moved between the stalagmites – and the heat – as if the most natural thing to do. Well, for his kind it WAS natural. "Are you sure that this is the right way?" he asked skeptically, peering deeper into the passage.

The Firbolg gave him an offended glance. "Of course! Do you lose your way inside your own home?"

Hook smirked. "Not possible, unless it's a little fool with a sparrow-brain who can get lost in a small cave?"

It was more a joke than an insult, but, of course, Peter fell for it. After all he was still irritated with the pirate for daring to thimble Wendy! He shot the buccaneer a heated glance. "First, codfish, our home is more than one room – not a cave! Second, someone with the intelligence of a fish – like you – you shouldn't mock others cleverer than himself. And third--"

"Third I am ready to give you another whacking that--"

"Might one of you answer a question for me?" Thalion interrupted them – courteously, which made the opponents pause in their badinage.

"Of course," Hook nodded politely, biting off a bitter comment – after all, he still saw himself as a gentleman.

"Sure," Peter shrugged.

"Why don't you two stop this charade of mutual animosity when only one moment of crisis is enough to join you together like two raindrops?" The Elf had raised his voice, nearly losing the legendary control Elves were famous for. Boy and man stared at him, stunned "Old habits die hard, I know," the Elfish commander continued impatiently, "but you two take the prize! _Ed' i'ear ar' elenea!_ By the sea and the stars, either of you would risk anything for the other, and then proceed to lob insults back and forth, as though you hated one another. Not so! No more! It is time you come to accept it!" He stared flint-eyed at the two, who gaped at him – mouths set in identical lines. "And if the large and small gentlemen would please join us in concentrating on finding the wizard, perhaps THEN you two would shut up!" With that he turned and marched further in – his movements betraying his anger.

Yes, Thalion's reaction seemed a bit hard. After all, he should have been aware by that time that Peter and Hook would never miss a chance to quarrel. But please be lenient. The Elf had lost many of his comrades, and one of his best friends lay badly injured. And facing a – nearly hopeless – situation can tense anyone's nerves.

The captain's face was red, having just been scolded like a school-boy – again! He was a Captain, for pity's sake, and not a kid! Peter was outraged as well. How dare Thalion to shout at him! Hook had insulted him! Intolerable! And he had a reason to be angry with the pirate. The man had given Wendy a thimble, and –

Peter stopped suddenly yanked on the buccaneer's arm, stopping him. "Why did you thimble Wendy?" he asked sharply, as this question that had been gnawing at him now burst out.

A wide grin appeared on Hook's face. "Jealous, Pan?"

"I am NOT jealous. I am not Tinker Bell! But you have no right--"

"Pray tell, why not?" the pirate chuckled, clearly amused.

"She is my friend, not yours!"

"You brought her here, true. But that's no reason why I cannot kiss her goodbye. After all, she and I have a history together as well." He grinned down at his young opponent. "My dear boy, you should ask her about such simple gestures you are seem to be incapable to understand, because--"

"It was not a simple gesture!" Peter interrupted crossly.

"I am surprised how quickly you learn. Maybe you should think about why you weren't the only one she kissed good-bye."

Peter's expression was – in Hook's opinion – priceless. He stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth open – before he frowned. "Don't try to tell me that she gave you one. She would never do that!"

"And again the question: Why not?"

"Because you are a filthy, ugly, old man!" Peter barked, and watched with great satisfaction how Hook's face turned red again.

In the next moment the pirate's hand darted out and seized his neck, while he pulled him closer. "Listen very carefully to me, Pan. I may be, in your opinion, an old man, but you are nothing more than a newborn whelp, too silly to accept something you don't want to be true. And if you don't swallow your insults, because you are unable to understand your own feelings and those of the others, then I will lay you over my knee. And believe me, this time you wouldn't be able to sit for days. That is, if you even survive this foray!"

With that, he pushed him roughly away, and Peter rubbed his neck. Coo lor', the codfish was strong! He almost forgot. Then he frowned at him. "Don't you threaten me, Hook. We both know --"

It was at that precise moment, as Thalion turned to upbraid them and Kilner moved to interrupt the two gamecocks, the volcano surged deep beneath their feet, sending tremors through the mountain yet again. Almost everyone fell as parts of the ceiling gave way. Hook snatched up Peter and rolled him over and over again as above them one of the larger stalactites broke off, death with a point on it. It speared the floor – exactly at the spot where the boy had fallen a second before.

Wide-eyed, breath catching in his throat, Peter stared at the deadly projectile and swallowed hard, not realizing that he lay on top of the pirate-captain, whose left arm was still wrapped firmly around him. For a long moment both stared at it, then Peter looked at the buccaneer. "Am I still a filthy old man in your eyes?" Hook asked coldly, and the boy guiltily closed his eyes.

The buccaneer had saved him – again. "No," he whispered. "I —I'm sorry, Hook," he murmured, barely to understand. "But seeing you thimble Wendy--" He didn't finish the sentence, but the pirate-captain understood him nevertheless.

"It was only a harmless gesture of comfort, Pan. She was upset, as you saw yourself, and such gestures are helpful to little girls." Alas, why was he minimizing it, only to calm the boy? Comforting the storyteller certainly wasn't the reason why he had kissed her. And that the boy seemed jealous should please him. How often had it been the other way around? But he felt no satisfaction. A part of him – the same part that had been awakened by the girl and her sweet charms – felt understanding for the boy, and he had no desire to hurt him further. _'Well, James, you've finally lost it!'_ he thought sarcastically.

Peter tried a smile. "Don't let her hear you call her a 'little girl'."

Hook felt a grin steal across his features. "Aye! I think she would be a greater danger than the enemy." The boy nodded and smiled. "Comfortable, Pan?" the pirate asked politely, and the youth noticed suddenly that he still lay on top of the man, dust settling around them.

Peter rolled off, mumbling "Sorry" and rose quickly, offering his hand toward Hook. For a moment the buccaneer glared at the slender, boyish hand, then he took it and rose, using the boy's leverage. "Your generosity is quite unnerving, Pan," he teased, and Peter chuckled.

"Hmmm. I finally begin to follow your own example, and you're still not happy?"

Hook met the boy's cocky grin and sighed. "I would love for you to retain this most welcome alteration of behavior."

Peter shook his head. "Never!"

"Thought so!" the pirate-captain grumbled – and saw that he and the boy were, once again, the centre of attention. "What's the matter?" he asked gruffly, "Don't we have wizard to defeat?" and he continued down the tunnel.

Thalion moaned. "Heaven, deliver me from these ridiculous humans!" .

TBC--

So, and now I have to aks for your patience, because I'll go on holidays this week and will be back at the 27th Sep. Sorry, for letting you waiting again now, but I'm really ready to have a break, after my last holidays were at Eastern.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. In the next Peter and Hook will face completely danger - more as ever before. The final battle comes nearer and nearer now.

By the way: my PotC-Story (the begin of it) is now published and the next chapter will be posted tomorrow. So if you want to have a peek on it... I would be glad to receive reviews.

Love you all

until end of September

Lywhn


	35. Inferno

Hi, dear readers,

I am just back from my vacation (why have holidays be over so quickly?) and found that my dear friend and beta-reader was very, very busy during my absence. Here now chapter 34 AND chapter 35. Have fun and please review!

Love

Lywhn

**Chapter 34 Inferno **

The wind was still icy and the darkness impenetrable, but at least the air was clean. The biting reek of brimstone was gone, and Wendy sighed in relief. She had headache by now and wondered how the others had born the terrible stench for so long. Beside her, Michael and the Twins wore the same expression as she, and she knew without asking that they had headaches as well. Her eyes went to Nihal, walking behind her, and gave her a reassuring smile. He was limping, holding his right arm close to his body.

She frowned, for she hadn't noticed that he was injured; she'd been too distracted by everything else. First the battle with those horrible creatures, then her concern for Peter--and, yes, Hook--then her fear of Hook's reaction after he found out about his quarters and then, finally, the horrible news that she and the boys had to leave the main group. Again!

She hadn't wanted to go, but Peter's little speech convinced her that there was probably no other way. And he had given her a great commission. If the Mount of No Return erupted and destroyed Neverland, it was up to her to take care that the eternal boy who would never grow up was never forgotten. He AND James Hook. By giving her this task, he had taken all the wind from her sails. She had to obey his wish — his – and Hook's. She knew that the man hadn't threatened her, but wanted her safe.

Unconsciously, her fingers touched her cheek where she still felt the warm pair of lips and the gentle scratching of his unshaven face. Why had he done it? And why, for goodness sake, had she given him a kiss, too? Her aunt (whose admonitions were fading to obscurity) would be shocked. She was too old now to do such things as a child (only little children, barely able to walk, kissed strangers on the cheek to say good-bye – in the opinion of her aunt.) She was still too young. It had been indecent, impossible … and most fitting! If he really were going to die -- and she prayed with all her might that this would not be!--then he should die knowing that someone cared for him.

She stumbled over a small rock, half hidden in the deep snow, and Bumblyn squeaked a "Careful!"

"Fare you well?" cheeped Kailen overhead.

She sighed. Well, the way down a mountain in deep snow was always risky. She looked up to nod at him--and gasped. Her eyes widened in shock, and her expression alarmed the others. "LOOK!"

The rest of her party turned to see where the girl was pointing. It might have been beautiful, if they didn't know the terrible danger it represented. Above them, the low hanging clouds underlit in a red and gold light that spread over them like a tongue of fire. A loud rumble was heard and the ground shook for a moment, while the eerie light danced under the clouds, turning the falling snow into tiny bits of fire, as if they were made of sparks and not of frozen water. "The volcano," Smee murmured, "God 'a' mercy should t'at damn t'ing t'row up!"

Aurora, who had avoided Kailen since a certain word had slipped out of him, pressed her tiny hands in front of her mouth--and was suddenly beside the pixie. Being next to him was air to breathe and flowers to care for. One green arm wrapped around her shoulders and she looked up into his almond eyes. He pulled her closer, while her arms crept around his slim waist, ignoring the stares of the other little people around them. In face of such a danger old taboos didn't matter anymore!

Tiger-Lily remained at John's side, and he, taking a page from the little couple, also put an arm about her as she clung to him. The girl cared not a fig that she was the chief's daughter, expected to remain stoic under any situation. In that moment, she was simply a frightened girl, and if she had to face death, then she wanted to be close to the pale dark-haired boy who held her young girlish heart.

Beside her, Great Panther, who was in the lead along with Nihal, glanced at the fire-mountain. "The end begins," he murmured.

Wendy looked at him, and a new chill swept through her, while Bumblyn pressed closer to her leg. "No," the girl whispered. "NO! It can't be! Peter and Hook have NOT failed!"

"Peace, Lady," Nihal said gently. "The Mount has behaved like this for hours. This does not mean that it is going to erupt this instant. The lava rises, yes, but it will take time before it reaches the crater. You only see its distant light now, for that is bright as the sun at midday."

Wendy turned her attention to the Elf and fought back her tears. Fear was exhausting, and she worried about her brothers, friends, for the Indians and Elves, for Peter and Hook and for herself. Nihal saw the girl's fatigue, and gently stroked her hair--a gesture of full comfort. Momentarily, Wendy sought strength in the strong arm of the Elvish warrior, as she walked close to him.

She smelled the faint odor of brimstone that still lingered in everyone's clothes, but also his more typical scent of wood, fern and moss, which seemed uniquely different for every Elf. She enjoyed the smooth material of his cape. "We'll make it," Nihal murmured soothingly, and her throat constricted. She'd heard those words before, spoken by the man up there on the volcano, fighting for all of their lives. And for a long moment she wished she were there to share his and Peter's fate, story be damned!

For a long moment the awakening woman in her wished that the arm wrapped about her was clad in velvet, that the hair her cheek rested on wasn't silver but black curls--and that she had dared more than quick peck on his cheek!

-------------------------

"This way!"

Kilner pointed down another branching tunnel. Thalion and Chief Rain-in-the-Face exchanged a glance. The Elf shook his head, while the Indian murmured something about 'trusting a demon' and 'the Great Spirit has a wonderful sense of humor' in his native tongue.

The Firbolg momentarily closed his glowing eyes, a sign of impatience. "It is not far anymore," he said again.

"How often have I heard THAT since we left the cavern?" Hook growled, and Peter nodded.

"Aye! How far is 'not so far anymore' for you?" he asked the Firbolg, who shot him a glare.

"You soft-feet are too impatient. A volcano is an ancient being that knows no haste. And it is as such that you must move in it."

"Sorry, but for me a volcano isn't any sort of being, but a mountain with a nasty hiccup that spills vomits fire!" Peter answered, pulling a face.

"My thoughts exactly." the buccaneer added.

The boy grinned at him. "Well, that's a start, Hooky!"

The pirate-captain looked at him askance, the corner of his lip raised in disgust. "STOP calling me that!"

"Why? It's just a pet-name and —"

"I need NO–"

The teasing quarrel halted as the mountain started to shake again. Not as strongly, but lasting longer. Again, stones detached from the ceiling and the allies pressed themselves to the sides of the tunnel. Even the Firbolgs seemed nervous by now. Peter stayed beside Hook, feeling fear as more and more stones tumbled down. "I don't think it's quite safe here!" the boy shouted over the noise, and Hook made a face at the new understatement. The buccaneer momentarily felt the urge to laugh hysterically before his legendary control kicked in again.

"Over there--a small cave!" Kilner's rasping voice rose above the rumbling, while he pointed down the tunnel. "The ceiling is solid granite--far studier than here."

Peter and Hook exchanged a glance with Thalion and the Indian chief, who were pressed against the far wall. The Elf nodded. "It seems we have no other choice!" he called. "Stay close to the wall and watch for projectiles as you walk."

Hook groaned. "I'm not a bloody beginner, Elf!"

Peter chuckled, more to raise his own spirits. "Too much for your ego, codfish?"

"Shut up, Pan," he replied out of habit.

Peter felt his way along the wall and over the stones, Hook close behind him, followed by the pirates. Across the tunnel, the Elves and Indians moved carefully; the Firbolgs on their heels. The air was dusty from the loosened stones, and one more fell, grazing Peter's arm. The boy caught his breath from the pain, and down at his bleeding arm.

"Are you hurt?" Hook's voice was loud in his ear.

"What does it look like?" the boy snapped back; tears in the eyes. That _hurt!_

"When this cursed mountain is through shaking itself, I'll have a look at it," the buccaneer replied, pointing toward the opening of the cave that Kilner had described. "Hurry, Pan. I have a bad feeling that this isn't finished."

"Your bad feeling comes from this horrid smell and –"

Above them something gave a horrific crack, and they heard Thalion shout a warning. Both Peter and Hook reacted instinctively. They threw themselves forward and into the cave--crawling rapidly on all fours deeper into the cave in their haste to get away. Behind them an avalanche of loosened stones fell, showering them with dust and splinters that shot around like bullets. Neither Peter, nor Hook glanced back, but tried to get as deep into the cave as possible to avoid this new threat.

Finally, pressed against the far wall, opposite the opening (and trying to protect each other) they dared a look back, coughing from the dust and trying to see through it. The noise ebbed away, now only single pebbles were rolling. As the dust settled, they saw their predicament, and Hook cursed savagely. The opening to this cave was blocked by stones that reached to the roof. They were cut off from the others, isolated in a tiny dark cave. Only the torch Hook had been carrying was, miraculously, still lit.

"What now?" Peter asked, rising. He looked up the mighty heap. "How do we clear _that_ away?"

The buccaneer chewed his lip thoughtfully. "We won't," he answered quietly and met the shocked gaze of the boy. "It is impossible for them to move those stones without equipment, Peter," he told him softly, his mind already calculating what that meant for him and the youth.

"But we have to get out of here! We have to stop S'Hadh and--and we can't stay here! We … we –" Peter stammered, and then the reality of being caught in a small cave with no way out hit him. "We … we have no water or food," he whispered, and glanced at the man; hoping against hope that the pirate would again disagree with him.

But Hook only nodded; something like compassion in his eyes. For a moment, desperation overpowered the boy -- hard, brutal and cruel. Then he straightened. "I will not surrender to a bunch of rocks!" he hissed and walked to the stony barricade. "Thalion!" he shouted. "Can you hear me?" then coughed from the lingering dust.

Hook glanced at the boy before him. He knew that it would be hard for Peter to accept that they finally had stepped into a dead end--literally. There was no escape. Yes, he himself wasn't ready to give up, but his clear and logical mind told him that this was a foolhardy hope against hope for something that didn't exist anymore. After a moment an answer came from the other side of the rock pile; barely comprehensible, but Hook felt a wave of relief.

"Peter? Captain? Are you alright?"

The boy threw his cockiest grin over his shoulder. "Told you!" and shouted back. "No serious damage! Can you get us out?"

Again was a short while silence, until Thalion's voice came back to them. "I don't see how at the moment. But perhaps the Firbolgs can help. They are experts with stone!"

Peter gave a whoop of victory, then turned to the man. "Ha! Hear that, Hook? You give up too quickly!"

"You are mistaken, boy, otherwise I would never have fought my way out of a crocodile's gullet!"

"Well, maybe you could fight your way out of this cave!" the boy smirked back.

"Possibly." Hook joined him at the barrier and swept his torch across the heap of rocks before him. "There must be openings, or we would not be able to hear Thalion," he thought aloud and held the flame to different places in the pile, waiting for the flicker that would reveal an opening. "What's about your arm?" he asked, without looking at Peter.

He didn't see the surprised expression on the boy's face. _Did the pirate really care?_ "Not bad," he murmured and glanced at the injury on his upper arm. It still oozed, but Peter knew they had other worries now.

"Captain? Peter?"

Thalion's muffled voice again found them. "Half of Kilner's clan will stay to dig through. They have methods they can use. But it will take some time, one of the things we don't have." He hesitated. "We will continue to pursue S'Hadh, and you both must come as soon as you can."

Peter pressed his lips together, angry. He didn't want to miss the final battle! And he wanted to be the one who kicked the warlock out of Neverland. He met again Hook's understanding gaze--yes, they were both cut from the same tree, the boy could see it--and took a deep breath. It didn't matter who defeated the wizard, the main thing was that he was arrested before he could destroy the island. "Go on, Thalion. We'll follow you soon!"

"Optimist!" Hook grumbled.

"All right, we'll meet up at the--" the Elf began anew, but stopped as another nasty crack was heard. Peter and Hook about and up. What was that? Then they heard the Elf's shout: "THE DOME! It's opening!"

Peter gasped. "NO!"

Hook gripped his upper arm--not the injured one, thankfully--and roughly dragged him away from the blocked opening. "RUN, THALION! DON'T THINK OF US NOW!" he shouted over his shoulder, and felt Peter fight his grip. He firmly held him close. "If they don't run now, they'll die!" he snarled in the boy's ear, then he pushed him to the ground, and crouched over Peter in a protective gesture, while he warily watched the ceiling above them. He knew what it meant, should the lava shoot into the area above the tunnel the others where in, and their cave well. Even granite was not strong enough to resist that heat.

Thalion heard the captain's shout and glanced one last time at the ceiling above them, where a crack suddenly stretched like an ominous glowing vein in a leaf. _If they left now, the two who were trapped were lost!_ Then he saw the glowing crack above him growing wider, and a fiery bit of hell plopped ominously to the floor. For a moment his dark eyes widened. It was only seconds before the lava broke through. "RUN!" he shouted, casting aside his rising despair at allowing Hook and Peter behind. As many of them as possible HAD to survive to fight S'Hadh! A moment later, the allies were fleeing, following Kilner and several of his clan, other Firbolgs behind the larger warriors, just as terrified as the others. Behind them, something exploded, and the heat grew for a moment. No one of them had to look back to know what had happened--the lava was coming. In a sudden burst of speed, they raced toward a ramp that led upward. Panting they fled forward, almost tripping over their own feet to get ahead of and away from the pursuing inferno behind them. The flow had slowed as the lava pressed forward. But there was more bubbling magma in the volcano--and it would rise sooner or later.

"This way!" Kilner cried, and galloped into another passage that also led upward. The heat was too intense to see clearly. Most of them felt they couldn't even breathe anymore, or swallow. The heat and exhaustion nearly made them mindless. Nearly. It was Thalion who was able to rally his control because he smelled something that wasn't brimstone. Something his lungs were yearning for: Fresh air.

The Firbolg in front of him ran even quicker; his tiny hooves flying over the ground now. And Thalion somehow found the energy to go faster as well, because he knew where they were heading--an exit out of this hell! They only needed a minute more, but it was the longest minute in all their lives.

The ground shook again and the roar behind them seemed swell around them, but finally they stumbled out onto melting snow and warp, while cold fresh air blew about them. It doesn't happen often that an Elf falls, but this time Thalion did. He fell into the snow, as the slippery mass under his feet slid away and his knees gave in. Panting and greedily gasping the fresh, cold, sweet air, he rested a moment, gathering himself. Behind him, the others came running, out of breath, panic-stricken and weary. Thalion lifted his head. "We have to put distance between us and this opening. Should the lava rise to this level, it could overtake us." With trembling knees he pushed himself to his feet and glanced back to the hole in the mountainside.

In there were still their two most important allies.

And more than this, he cared for the boy--a lot, he had to admit. And he had come to respect the man who always wore the sinister mask over his no-longer-black heart. And they were still in there, imprisoned in a cave protected only by the avalanche at its entrance. The Elf knew that there was no hope for the two anymore. It would be weeks before the lava cooled enough to allow them to venture into the volcano, and he was almost certain that the passage they had gone through, from which the cave branched off, would be blocked by lava turned to stone. The two were sentenced to death and burial where he had left them. Thalion hoped that Hook might use that infamous claw to end his own and the boy's life mercifully, instead of suffering the slow and painful death by starvation and thirst--or before they were baked alive.

If it hadn't happened already …

For a moment, tears filled his eyes. First Giliath and a good portion of his men, and now Peter and Hook. This operation had become a nightmare, but this was the darkest moment of all. He knew that their chance to defeat S'Hadh without the two and Celeb-Valar was literally hopeless. As the prophecy had foretold, the two were needed for them to be successful--the two enemies who stood together; young and old that walked the same way.

He took a deep breath. There were still the others to save, and if his interference on the peak of the volcano gave them the time they needed to reach the ship, then he was ready to follow his friend Giliath to hell to fulfill at least this small portion of his duty.

---------------------------

"Thank you," Peter murmured. Hook had used a strip from the silky lining of his waistcoat to stop the bleeding and bandage the boy's arm.

Hook rose and looked around him. He had shoved the torch between a couple of stones blocking the opening, and watched closely the progress of the few bits of cooling lava that had squeezed through tiny breaks in the rock. For a long, terrible moment he had been convinced that the stones would give way, and that the lava would gush into their cavern as well, but it did not. Fortuna seemed to keep careful watch over them.

"What now?" he heard the boy ask almost plaintively. He turned to look on the small figure that sat, back against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around them. It was then he noticed the bad state Peter was in. There seemed to be not one exposed inch on his boy that wasn't bruised or wounded. His face was white and his cheeks hollow. Dark shadows showed under his eyes, betraying his fatigue and growing hopelessness. In contrast to Hook's mocking of Peter's intelligence, he knew that the boy was no fool. Of course he knew the fate that lay in store for them.

Hook took a deep breath. There was only one answer he could give the boy, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to say it. Instead, he drawled, "Don't know, Peter. To be honest, I don't think we have many options left.

Peter chuckled humorlessly. An understatement, and they both knew it. "So that's it?" he murmured more to himself than to Hook, but the buccaneer sighed.

"Seems so!" He kicked a stone away, and it rocketed up the far wall, bounding back to the middle of the cave. "Bloody creeping hell!" he suddenly snarled. "I seem fated to end up in some kind of prison! First that--that mess at home. Then banishment to an enchanted island--or accursed, depending on one's point of view--then I find myself in the gullet of a giant lizard, now at last I'm locked away in a dirty hole with lava on one side and half a mountain on the other!" After this outburst, he took a very deep breath and shoved hand and hook in his hips, he pressed his lips together. The mountain had stilled. It was absolutely silent, only a trickle of dislodged pebbles broke the dense quiet.

Peter blinked up at the man, only a few paces away. His tall silhouette threw long shadows, dancing in the dying light of the torch. Not long anymore and the torch would burn out, they would be left in total darkness. The boy didn't know why but he feared that moment--the moment when everything would go black and he would never know light again. He drank in the appearance of the pirate-captain, who had been so long his deadliest enemy: the pale, bearded face and the piercing blue eyes; the wild raven-dark curls, normally a shiny mane, and now caked with dirt; the broad shoulders and slim waist under the torn overcoat and waistcoat; the high boots, the long sword which he had so often fought. And the gleaming hook—Peter's greatest shame.

Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to put this old guilt away. He wanted things to be right between him and the man in front of him--the self-same man who tried to kill him countless times, and who had risked his life repeatedly to protect him over the last few days. Sweet light of the morning, he even had comforted him! Wendy was right. Hook COULD be a good man, given the chance!

This realization hit him with its full might, forcing him to act. Collecting himself, he rose and faced the buccaneer. He wanted to see his eyes when he apologized for what had happened, and if the torchlight was gone, then so was his chance. And he wanted to ask forgiveness--no, he needed to! "Hook?" he began quietly and met the forget-me-not-blue depths above him.

"Yes?" The pirate looked down at the boy, something strange in his face. He knew Peter as well as any, and he felt the boy was up to something portentous.

Peter touched the metal--cold steel, where a warm, strong hand should be. And it was his fault--a mistake he had to deal with before he died. He opened his mouth to speak something he even hadn't felt ever before, as another shiver ran through the mountain. Instinctively he grabbed for the buccaneer, who held him upright while they struggled to remain on their feet. Fresh dirt trickled down on them while the torch flickered. And continued to flicker after the volcano quieted down again.

Both, man and boy, frowned--finally remembering that the torch had been telling them something since they were locked in here. Fire flickered like that in moving air and moving air meant--

As one they looked up. The ceiling of this cave was far above them, lost in the darkness, but there was above them that didn't fit. Hook released Peter and stretched his hand to the wall; his fingers touched the damp stone that--

One moment! Damp? He sniffed at his fingers, and finally tasted them carefully. It was water. Simple, normal water. Not the slightest bit salty. But where did it come from? And why was it so clean? Suddenly, life inflamed Hook's spirit again. "Peter!" he called and whirled around to the boy. "Fetch the torch and come here!" Curious because of the pirate's urgent tone, Peter yanked the torch loose with some difficulty--heavens, how had Hook forced that thing between the stones!--and jogged to the man, who took the torch without a word.

He lifted it as high as possible, and pointed upwards with his metal claw. "Do you see?" he asked, and Peter blinked. There, in the dim light of the torch, was a dark spot. Something was there that didn't show in the light of the fire. "Like--like under the stone dragon in the catacombs of the Black Castle!" he thought aloud, and Hook grinned at him.

"You know what that means?"

Peter scratched his head--the heat was slowing his thoughts--and then he grinned at Hook; his face shining brightly. "A HOLE! Hook, it's our way out of here!" he screamed, and before the pirate could react he had his arms full of the boy, who embraced him with a stranglehold before he whirled toward the wall and started to climb. "Come on, Hooky. Last up gets no dessert!"

Caught off-guard, the man watched the boy climb up the wall--slowly, awkwardly because of his hurting feet, but steadily. Pan had embraced him--again? Had the boy finally lost his mind? And what dessert, for God's sake? He would be glad to get some bread between his teeth--or even Cookson's awful plum-pudding!

Peter looked back and saw the man staring at him open-mouthed. "Trying to catch bugs? Come on!"

Hook swallowed. Oh yes, he would love to get out of this hell, but there was a little problem that not only concerned his metal claw. No. "And how shall I carry the torch and climb with one hand, boy?" he asked. "I can't clamp it between my teeth like a sword."

Peter frowned. Well, the pirate was right. They needed the torch and--

An idea formed in his mind. "Wait until I've reached the hole. Then I'll untwist the lines of my weapon-sash and let the rope down. Tie the torch to it, and I'll pull it up as you climb so you can see what you're doing."

Hook lifted a brow. That sounded feasible, but, "Are you sure you can climb up this wall without light? I don't know if I could catch you if you lost balance."

"Hey, don't try to teach an eagle to fly!" Peter joked, suddenly cheerful.

"An eagle with pruned wings, you mean!" the buccaneer jeered, and had to smirk when he caught the petulant frown of the boy. "Just play monkey, Pan. Or, if you don't dare, let me try it. I can pull you up when I get there."

Peter stuck his tongue out to him. "I'm the best there ever was!" he teased with a wicked grin--and climbed faster. The pain in his feet was forgotten, and the protesting muscles in his legs and arms couldn't slow him. He, the Pan of Neverland, give up and let Hook go on ahead? Who ever heard of such a thing? The pirate-captain chuckled as he watched the boy's efforts. Say what you like about the boy, but Hook admired his persistent spirit.

Suddenly, behind him, an ominous scraping sound reached him, and the captain's head swung around. Larger rocks were pushed aside by the fading glow as hot streams squeezed past the stones, flowing in earnest, and Hook's stomach somersaulted. "Peter? Hurry! The lava is trying to see what's behind the barrier!"

The leader of the Lost Boys looked down and his eyes widened as he saw what Hook meant. Faster than he thought possible, he finished his climb. Fresh air wafted his direction, and for a moment he felt dizzy as he breathed his first fresh breath in days. He gripped the edge of the hole and pulled himself up. Cold air blew through his dirty golden locks as he crawled through the hole into the mash of wet snow outside. He didn't feel the cold in that moment, being so overheated from the climb and the pursuing lava. After several deep breaths, he bent into the hole again. He poked his head from the opening and saw Hook below him, face betraying the man's fear. "Hurry Peter!" he screamed, and then Peter saw the reason--the lava was creeping through the barrier and smoke started to fill the cavern.

"Forget the bloody torch and climb!" the boy shouted down, fearing for Hook's life pounding in his chest.

Hook decided to take the boy's advice. Leaving the torch where it was, he started to climb. Sweat seemed to pour from him now as the murderous heat grew with every second. Never before had Hook moved like that as he not only felt but also heard the glowing death coming slowly into the cavern, pushing rocks aside--snapping, hissing, growling. He looked down and gasped, the lake made of flowing fire in the spot where he stood moments ago.

And it was rising.

Hook didn't waste another second watching. His fingers burrowed into every niche he saw; his hook dug into the imperfections in the stone, while his feet found purchase where normally none would be. Above him, he heard the boy's voice shouting for him to hurry up--and he would have loved to obey this time. Terror was driving him forward. He didn't think, he simply acted--exactly as he had done when he slashed his way out of the crocodile's mouth.

And then, suddenly, Peter's voice was close. "Take my hand!" A small hand was before his face and his own closed around it. For a tense horrible moment, his right foot slipped, and a scream of panic broke out of him, before his hook again found an edge to grip. "Don't let go!" Peter yelled and pulled with all his might to help Hook out of the glowing gullet. For a moment it seems as if his shoulders were too broad to fit through the small opening, but neither he nor Peter would accept that.

Desperate not to lose Hook when safety was so near, the boy hauled on the yoke of the captain's coat. The man was frantic to escape the inferno under him, his boots beginning to smoke. Then the pirate got a knee up, and panting, he crawled out into the melting snow.

Man and boy lost their balance and rolled several yards downhill and lay gasping. But there was no time to rest. A loud hiss startled them, and as they looked up, they saw the lava pushing its way through the opening they'd just crawled from. Without a word, they rose and started to run--away from the path the lava would take.

They were almost above the timberline and so they headed toward some pines, which seemed their only protection. Now reeling more than running, the allies reached them and fell into the snow. Panting, to weary to move, they lay side by side, gasping for air, almost feeling sick from the effort, the smells, the terror of the last quarter hour.

They saw the lava creep its way down toward the valley; leaving a crust of hardening flow behind.

"I don't want to do this anymore!" Peter panted, still out of breath. "I want a bath in a hot spring in the Ancient Forest, then a meal of mangos, coconuts and my own roast rabbit, or even fish, and then a nice long nap on my own bed!"

Hook made a sound that was a mixture of laughter and snort. "How droll! We both want the same thing for a change! My wish is for a heavenly long bath in my own porcelain tub, with a good wine and a back-massage, then an excellent dinner--not too heavy, not too light--and after that a long proper sleep. And when I wake up, the sun will be shining, the sea is will be calm, Cookson will whistle some of his dreadful songs, Smee will snore outside my door and tell me afterward that he was on full watch with eyes wide open, and Short Tom will croak something ridiculous! And then: a nice quiet day on the poop-deck in the shadow of the sails in a comfortable chair, enjoying a warm sea-breeze and the soft swaying of the _Jolly Roger_ while she plows her way through the waves to the place where she and I belong--the open sea. I swear, Pan, it's more refreshing than ten days in a hammock under palms."

Peter, who still had his eyes shut, sighed; clearly imagining the picture. "Sounds good to me!"

Hook turned his head in the boy's direction. "Truly?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Are you saying that a quiet day aboard my ship sounds good?" He met the boy's glance, as he nodded. Hook shook his head and closed his eyes again. He was tired … so very tired. And for a moment he thought he had only imagined Peter's words.

"Could I ask you a favor?" Peter's voice pulled him out of the sleepy haze that almost overpowered him.

"Hmm?" he murmured.

The boy shifted toward him (still not realizing that he lay with bare upper body in the snow.) "One day aboard the _Jolly Roger_--without you trying to gut me."

The buccaneer's eyes opened and his head turned toward the youth, clearly surprised. "What do you want there?"

Peter shrugged. "Maybe I could learn something."

"You … learn?" Hook was taken aback. "And what might that be? How to drive me insane?"

For a moment a hurt expression passed over the boyish face. "I ... I rather though I could learn something about ships and ... how to sail."

And now Hook was stunned. "You … want to learn how to sail … a ship? Do you want to charter? On my ship?"

The leader of the lost boys sighed. "I ... I just want a day away from everything. You said that a day at sea is more refreshing than ten days on a beach under palm trees." He looked at Hook. "I know that's asking a lot of you, but --"

"Deal!" the buccaneer heard himself saying (to his horror.)

Peter blinked and lifted his head. "Really?" he asked, a genuine smile on his face.

The pirate-captain watched the youth with concealed wonderment. The boy seemed genuinely happy about the prospect of a day at sea … with him … and so he finally nodded. How could he help but feel flattered? Even so ... "You saved my life, Peter. Without your help, I would have gone to a quick and painful death. If you really want a day at sea on my ship, then it's the least I can do."

The boy's hand touched his larger one. "Thank you, Captain!"

Never before had he seen the boy so honestly pleased. "You're welcome, boy!" he answered, a smile tugging at his moustache. _' No wonder the girl is so enamored with him. He's quite charming … when he's not at your throat!'_ For a moment, he pictured the lad dressed in cut breeches and an open shirt, sleeves rolled, bare feet planted in the crow-nest; eyes sparkling, an excited smile on his face, his short golden locks flying in the stiff wind that always blew at that height ...

No! Was he truly imagining the brat as ship's boy? May all the angels in Heaven defend him should this ever come true!

But … still … the prospect of teaching the cocky churl something other than hate and battle ...

Stifling a moan he rubbed his eyes. Well, he already knew that he had tipped over the edge, but that it had gone THIS far was alarming!

A loud noise woke both out of their lightheaded state, energy again surging. That wasn't the noise of the volcano, but a troll! As one, they reached for their weapons. In the dark mist about them, the allies saw the flicker of torches and five large shapes, accompanied by smaller ones, encircling something--or someone.

Peter and Hook were on their feet. Well, not many routes to get away. And a fight would just be suicide. They couldn't defeat five trolls and a half dozen Goblins! They shared a look (had they truly thought they had escaped?) and stood ready, Hook with his mighty captain's sword and Peter the dagger he had gotten from Thalion. They would sell their skin as dearly as possible!

The approaching Goblins sniggered loudly, wagging their heads and gabbling to each other, while the trolls grumbled, and then they suddenly attacked. With a war-cry, Hook met them, and blocked the first attack of the first troll with his sword. Beside him, Peter threw himself on the second one; all fatigue again forgotten.

The battle was short--and completely hopeless for the two allies. One troll seized Peter in his long, heavy arms, rendering him immobile, and Hook found himself in the iron grip of two other trolls--one on each arm, while the other brutally pressed on his shoulders, fixing him to the spot. Man and boy were out of breath and furious--and verging on despair. They had been so _close_...

The remaining Goblins, standing in a ragged circle, parted, allowing them see what was in their center--or, rather, who! With rising horror, Peter saw the tall thin shape that came with slow, unsteady steps, supported by an unusually tall Goblin. The boy swallowed a shiver as he looked into the soulless eyes in the waxen, ancient face, framed by ice-grey locks. Impossibly, S'Hadh seemed to have aged even more; his face covered with sags and wrinkles, his eyes sunk deep in his skull, walking with bent shoulders. The injury Hook had inflicted on him was serious, and even his magical powers couldn't banish it's damage completely. In fact, it had cost him a lot. He stepped to Peter and raked him with his eyes.

The boy avoided the wizard's eyes--something he didn't do. Normally, he was careful to look straight at everyone, to assess them, and especially an enemy. He was too proud and too stubborn to lower his gaze, which was, in his eyes, nothing less than surrender. But this time, he couldn't bear the lifeless, soulless granite that were the warlock's eyes. It froze his very being, and S'Hadh's proximity seemed to drain him.

For a long moment, the warlock said nothing, only stared down at the boy who had resisted him so successfully. Even with the cold vacuum of his missing soul, he had to admire this--as far as he could feel such an emotion. The youth bore unquenchable strength, an unfaltering pride he hadn't seen in many humans, even escaped dozens of Goblins and Black Dwarfs, and an awakened volcano! This demanded respect, as even he had to admit privately.

He took a deep breath and felt a sharp pain in his side, where the Elfish sword had wounded him. "Did you really believe you could escape me, boy?" he asked, and even in his own ears his voice was hollow.

Peter refused to answer. He was angry--and, deep inside, afraid.

"No spirited remarks this time?"

The leader of the Lost Boys glanced his direction, but kept his gaze at the level of S'Hadh's throat. "For what? Old men don't understand, for they are too far away from real joy!"

The troll tightened his grip, and Peter held onto a moan. NO! He would not give the wizard the satisfaction!

To his amazement S'Hadh chuckled--a cold, strange sound, a snake crossing stone, without any hint of joy or humor. "I am relieved to find you so flamboyant, boy. So you are much more useful to me that way."

Peter was certain he knew what the warlock meant, and raised his eyes. The coal-like glow was gone, leaving an expressionless stare. He stared into the two dead spaces which were the wizard's eyes. "For what? You have lost, old man! Even if you're successful in destroying Neverland, you are too weak to carry out your plan. Wendy's world will never be yours!"

Silence.

Then the warlock smiled, more an ugly grimace than anything else, mouth stretching, wrinkles deepening. "Perhaps you are right." His voice was almost soft. "But it is _your_ world that will be lost. You have foiled my path--my chosen destiny. But I will not go without you. You, boy, and all who are dear to you. The whole island and all its inhabitants will follow you and will suffer the same fate as you." He saw the grim pallor of the boy. Oh yes, he would have him on knees, begging, before he would use him to at least gain his revenge!

"What will you do with him?" Hook's sharp voice attracted the warlock's attention.

S'Hadh turned around to him and lowered his head in the most polite way. "Ah, Captain Hook! Please excuse my lack of courtesy in ignoring you. And that when you should have my _full_ attention." He tottered to the pirate and appraised him from head to toe. "I have been told that you have a strong sense of good form. But I have not seen anything of it, as you felt no compunction against betraying ME."

Hook raised a brow. He knew that his life was forfeit, but he would go with flags flying, and certainly not being scolded for 'bad form.' "I was never your ally, wizard. So I couldn't betray you! I don't give my word easily, but once I've given it, nothing in the world can force me to break it. The boy has my loyalty and sword--to the very end of this charade! And if you were as powerful as you think yourself, you would have realized that. But greed makes one blind--even a warlock isn't immune from it!"

Hook peered into the dead eyes before him, and for the first time, he realized what it would mean to lose one's soul to gain the whole world. There was no life there at all, no emotion, no desire, no sadness, no joy--neither good nor evil. This thing … this creature in the shape of an old man … had no humanity left. It was an empty shell, filled only with old magic, ice and hunger for destruction. If this was the price to rule over a world, then it was a price James Hook would not pay. He knew what it meant to forget joy and human warmth. He had finally seen the emptiness in himself after he met Wendy again, and she wriggled into the core of his being. The sweet little wildcat had freed the man in him who could still feel warmth, pleasure, humor, loyalty and ... and love. How forlorn he had been before that had happened! It was only now that he recognized it, as one only recognizes a dream once you've awakened. And not for all the gold in the world did he want to go back to cold, to dark, to vengeance. And for a brief moment, he _almost_ pitied the warlock.

S'Hadh watched him silently, assessing, calculating. Thinking. The man was right--in a way. That a mortal had tricked him like this was something that would have stung--if he were capable of feeling. His glance found the empty sheath, and he nodded toward the tall Goblin, who never left his side. For a moment, a fearful expression fled over its ugly face, then it obediently gripped the sheath shoved a clawed finger into the opening. Almost trembling, the Goblin pulled out _Celeb-Valar_ and stepped back--holding it by his fingertips at arm's length.

Peter and Hook shared another glance. The blade was dark, covered with rust, as if centuries old. What happened to the shimmering silver sword?

S'Hadh sighed thoughtfully. "It's lost its power. It was poured out as you, Captain, used its magic to free your young friend." Hook opened his mouth to protest that Peter was only his ally, never his friend--but the words caught in his throat. Of course the little brat wasn't his friend. More precisely, he had no friend, but the brazen little monster had become … something different to him. The hatred was gone, and the part of him captured by the wild kitten named Wendy Darling also cared for Peter. He could deny it no longer.

Suddenly he knew that he would give his life to provide Peter one more chance to save this land, his friends and himself.

The wizard shook his head. "Such a waste! Giliath won in this encounter--but it was a small victory for him," he murmured.

It dawned on Peter that this was the second time the wizard made reference to the Elf, and that piqued his curiosity. S'Hadh had never met Giliath, had he? Yet, he seemed to know him … well. "How do you know Giliath?" he asked, meeting the eyes, so dead, so _empty_.

S'Hadh was silent, as if considering an answer, and boy and man heard their own breathing and the movement of lava. Then he took a deep breath. "I met him when I was a boy--barely older than you. He and his friends traveled through my village. The night before, I'd lost my family in a raid by knights from a neighboring district. Many of our village fell prey to them. Giliath and some other Elves helped us--and he allowed me to accompany them. He taught me everything a young human boy should learn: how to hunt, how to build, how to care for fields. And he taught me to write and to read."

He turned to look up the mountain, and watched the play of light from the mountain onto the underside of the clouds. "The Elves are remarkable scientists, and their libraries hold knowledge no human should ever come in contact with. But I read their books and notes--even those Giliath told me were dangerous, that I was not allowed to read. But I knew even then that knowledge is power. He had told me that over and over again. And I learned--more than the Elves wanted."

His head slowly turned to face his captives. "The day Giliath and I parted forever was the day I saw the Elves for what they are: arrogant, foolish creatures, afraid to use the powers they'd discovered. They were so satisfied with their lives and all they have. But stagnation is going backward. And so I found other wizards--ones who weren't afraid to learn of the power offered from those 'higher beings'."

His gaze found Peter's wide eyes again. "And I was right. I have more power than the so-called 'Beautiful People,' supposedly so much wiser than humans!" He laughed. "I knew it was my destiny to defeat Giliath one day."

Peter listened with a mixture of horror and fascination. The fact that the dark wizard and the bright Healer had a history that intertwined shocked him--they had even been _friends_. And now Giliath lay somewhere dying--or already dead--because he had taken in an orphaned boy. Because he hadn't foreseen the boy's hunger for power. "You should be ashamed!" he blurted, outraged. "You would have lived on the street without Giliath; begging for food and the pity of strangers! He took you in, gave you a life in safety and friendship! And _this_ is how you repay him? Betrayal and murder?"

S'Hadh's thin lips took on a definite look of disgust, and he sighed. "Boy, so few men are born to greatness. And greatness demands great sacrifice."

"By selling your soul to the devil?" Hook cut in, his face displaying his loathing.

A hint of smile played around the warlock's wrinkled mouth. "You had the potential to rise to greatness as well, Captain Hook. You can kill without thought, essential to reaching your destiny. But, as I said … HAD!"

A derisive snort escaped the pirate-captain. "And I'm glad that I still have enough presence of mind to choose between being a simple buccaneer, or the devil's puppet!"

S'Hadh bowed his head. "But that is why you are in my power, and not the other way around."

Hook scoffed, "But the result is the same. Yes, I know that you intend to kill me, but you will not leave this island alive, either!" He nodded toward the wound in the wizard's side that had resumed bleeding.

"Possibly. But does it matter? You'll die before me--with the knowledge that those you tried to protect will die as well." He looked back at Peter. "Don't think of Giliath as a friend, boy. He only used you to take revenge on me." He pointed at the disintegrating blade. "He knew my weakness, and poured all the magic he needed to defeat me into this sword. Do you call this being a _friend?_ I knew he sought me but had lost all traces of me. After I settled down in this land, he was eager to catch me here--dead or alive. And why? He had made the mistake of teaching me too well, and he had to correct this 'mistake'."

Peter lifted a brow. "How peculiar--considering that the prophecy is very old and was written long before you arrived!"

S'Hadh spread his arms. "His sister is a seer. Of course she told him what she could see in the mist of the future. He simply had to wait until the time was right, so he would be able to engage me again."

Peter stared at him--and started to laugh aloud. "Do you think I'm that stupid, S'Hadh? You turned your back on him and threatened his people and all others as well, and this after all you owe him! Remember what you said during our first meeting? That you want to rule the whole world? Giliath knew this. Yes, for a long time --the reason why he came here to warn the Indians before I came to Neverland. But this is not wrong! And the only thing he did wrong was to take you in at all! He should have left you where he found you: in the gutter! This would have spared many of us harm and sorrow!" He spat at the warlock's feet and stuck his chin out, eyes blazing.

S'Hadh ignored the gesture. "And those ridiculous things like honor and friendship and noble intentions are the reasons why you will not only lose your life, but will take your whole land with you into doom." He looked at _Celeb-Valar_. "And even the Elf's magic was not able to stop this." He pointed at the sword. "Leave it! It is useless now!"

The goblin promptly dropped the blade, as if it burned him. Maybe it did. S'Hadh raised his eyes again to the top of the volcano, not so far away anymore. The crater's edge was seen illuminated by the rising magma in the darkness. Dull thunder sounded through the air and the ground shivered again.

Suddenly the sound of rushing wings came out of the darkness: Kelaino, the daughter of the North-wind. She flapped her huge wings above them and landed near S'Hadh. Her little glowing eyes fixed at Peter--and then Hook. Hate distorted her already hag-like face, which displayed a long wound from her forehead to the first feathers; the result of Hook's clever maneuver. Saliva dripped from her bared fangs, as she flapped her foul wings. "Your end hasss come!" she hissed and one of her claws twitched, but she contained her raging thirst for revenge at S'Hadh's sound of impatience long enough to report to her master: "The fire issss rising. It hasssss reached the barrier."

S'Hadh nodded. "It is time!" He glanced back at Peter, and then at the troll who was holding the boy. "Bring him with us."

The eternal boy frowned. "What are you up to, wizard?"

S'Hadh lifted one thin brow. "The Mount of No Return is awakened by me, but the magic of this island prevents it erupting. With your death, the magic will be gone--or weakened enough to release it. And it will be you who will break the powerful barrier above its crater."

Peter stared at him. "NEVER!" he burst out, and heard the alarmingly hideous laughter of the warlock and the hissing snicker of the harpy.

"My dear boy, I do not ask you. You have no choice, for you will be the first to die in the mountain's fire--and free it with your own death!" the warlock said with frightening finality.

Finally, both Peter and Hook understood what S'Hadh intended. "You ... you want to throw him into the crater?" the pirate asked, unbelieving.

S'Hadh never turned his gaze from the boy, now the color of new snow. "It will be quick--even if I prefer a slow death for you," he said and waved at his companions to follow him. Addressing the fourth troll he commanded: "Carry me to the crater!" Then he addressed Kelaino. "Attend me!"

One of the Goblins gulped and stared at him. "Masssster?" In its throat it made a clicking, scratching sound. "If the volcano eruptsss ... what will become of ussss?"

S'Hadh gave him a glance of loathing. "You have my word that you will be safe before the end comes. My powers are still enough to send you away to another place." He nodded at the troll, who carefully hoisted him on his long arms and started up the mountain. The other troll flung Peter over his shoulder. The boy tried to fight, but it was no use. He couldn't defeat a troll with his bare hands.

"Massster?" the tall Goblin called and pointed at Hook. "What of _kchchk _that one?"

"Yes!" the harpy growled. "He must die! Let me rid the island of the man!"

S'Hadh shook slowly his head. "No, Kelaino, my loyal friend. Your services are needed elsewhere. I need your eyes to show us the way to the crater." The harpy's mouth turned to an unhappy grimace, but she shut her mouth with a click when she caught the wizard's gaze. "No fear, my friend. He will be dead even before the boy," S'Hadh added, as if were capable of feelings of compassion for the harpy (or anyone else). He glared at the buccaneer, whose expression was a dark fury. Then he looked at the two trolls who held the pirate and the third one behind them. "Kill him, any manner you choose," he told them flatly and signaled his servant to proceed up the mountain.

Peter gasped. "NO!" he screamed. "You don't need him for your revenge, S'Hadh! Let him go!" A painful blow on the back of his head was the answer, while Kelaino laughed shrilly, rising into the air. Peter watched the two trolls drag the pirate away. "HOOK!" he yelled and saw that the buccaneer resisted mightily, while his captors pulled him along between them.

The darkness swallowed him and the three trolls.

Tears blurred Peter's sight. He didn't want Hook to die! Not now! Not ever! He had so much to tell him and ...

Snow now fell with the ash, and he saw the last of the man. "James! I'm sorry! I never meant to cut off your hand!" he shouted, and received another brutal stroke. "Forgive me, James," he whispered and didn't even feel the hot tears falling down his face as he finally reached the limit of what he could bear. "I'm so sorry!"

TBC ...


	36. On the Mount of No Return

**Chapter 35 – On The Mount of No Return**

Wendy rubbed her face and glanced around the wide clearing. So many injured! How most survived until now would have been beyond her. Mostly, it was thanks to the soft white presence, pouring out healing and strength, chasing away the tendrils of death. Especially for one more dead than alive--Giliath.

The group she accompanied found the cave with the injured only a half hour ago. The men and Elves with them, assisting those unable to walk alone, were clearly relieved to see that those approaching weren't the wizard's servants, but their own allies and friends. Wendy had gone to Giliath, who hadn't regained consciousness after giving Hook _Celeb-Valar_. Indeed, he was now in a deathlike sleep. Her eyes swam as she admitted to herself that the Elf was dying.

And then the unbelievable happened. No one noticed at first that the wind ebbed away and that the biting cold had grown bearable. It had been the fairies and the pixies first, then the Hobgoblin, who saw the new presence. Wendy, kneeling next to Giliath, gasped as the white velvet nose came into view, she raised her head to look into the violet eyes. "You?" she whispered, and allowed herself to be pushed gently aside as the unicorn approached Giliath and touched him with her horn.

A soft light grew around him–like sunbeams and moonlight in the same illumination--and for a glorious moment the Elf opened his moss-green eyes. He looked–at first uncomprehendingly, and then full of wonder--at the beast bending over him, smiled, then fell asleep. But the unicorn smiled. "His force is great. He will survive!" she said, and touched the girl's cold cheek.

A relieved sob escaped Wendy, and she wrapped her arms around the unicorn's neck for comfort. Then she remembered that there were many who needed help, and began to lend a hand here and there. Yes, they needed to get away from the volcano, but those wounded needed rest and assistance, and so the girl never hesitated in her care, moving from one to the next, giving comfort, encouragement, an extra hand. They needed to leave, so this could not take long.

She approached Nihal. "I saw you limping," she said softly to the warrior, as she reached him. "May I look?"

The small Elf forced a smile. "It is nothing serious, my lady. Only a scratch."

Wendy lifted one delicate brow. "Hmm. Where have I heard that before?" She knelt down beside him. "Come on, show me."

The younger Elf shoved his silver hair back and gestured in the direction of the sea. "We shouldn't waste any time. The way is long and--"

"And it will help no one if you can't keep up." The Elf raised an eyebrow, and she smiled. "I am not a pirate with a silly code. I won't leave anyone behind!"

Nihal met her eyes – eyes in the color of an early summer morning long before dawn. He had heard the little talk between the girl and the captain, and he didn't need any special skill to see that the buccaneer meant a lot to her. "Not all pirates give allegiance to this so-called code, as you know." He laid his bow and quiver beside him. "But I have observed that a part of you is as rebellious as a pirate. Red-handed Jill it is, is it not?"

Wendy blushed as the Elf rolled up his legging. "Yes," she answered. "I named myself when I was an imaginary pirate with my own ship." She smiled sadly. "That was a long time ago." Her fingers carefully touched his flesh around the long slash on his leg.

"How long ago?" he asked to distract himself from what she was doing.

"Let me think," she answered, while she ripped a piece off his cape and poured some rum onto it from a bottle she had gotten from Billy Jukes. (How the pirate had managed to smuggle some their precious bottles with them was beyond her). "I heard about James Hook the first time … oh … about a year and a half ago." She pressed the alcohol-soaked cloth on the wound and heard him inhale sharply. "Sorry!" she apologized.

"Go on," he murmured, pale. Well, if this was a human cure, he had to respect their ability to bear pain!

"Quite truthfully, I don't remember when I heard about him the first time, but … but this name quickly took hold in my imagination."

"Why?" He glanced warily down on his leg. At least it wasn't bleeding anymore … briefly … until it started again. What was the point of this cure?

Wendy started to wrap his leg. "Well, my parents aren't rich, but are well-respected in our community. My father is a banker–which means he has people's trust–and my mother and aunt are reputable ladies. And then I come along, their daughter and their first-born … and I have a weak spot for pirates, of all things! I long for adventures, swordfights, mermaids. I want to learn science and languages. On top of that, I refuse to be turned into a lady. And they found out about it quickly. So I was caught, red-handed."

Nihal had to smile, despite the pain. "May I tell you a secret?" He met her large eyes as she looked up. "When I was a boy, I always wanted--"

The shrill whinny of the unicorn interrupted their quiet conversation, and Wendy started. She quickly finished the bandage. "What is it?" she called, rising. The mystical white creature stared up the mountain its flanks shivering. Emorlhi came beside the magical mare and also blinked upward. Wendy couldn't see anything, but she knew that the Elfish eyes were much sharper than hers. Emorlhi shouted urgently, and Nihal rose, gritting his teeth. "What's the matter?" the girl asked, watching with the unicorn and the two Elves with increasing uneasiness.

Emorlhi pointed the direction he'd been looking. "Do you see the fiery stream there?"

Wendy peered into the darkness. There, a thin golden ribbon, something dark flew through the artificial night along the mountain ridge. "Yes," she nodded.

"It emerged only a minute ago – and there are two dark shapes; one large, one smaller. They ran toward the last trees."

"Peter and Hook?" she gasped, almost afraid to hope.

"I think so!" Emorlhi nodded, and frowned. "There are more … Trolls! And Goblins!" he gasped and added something harsh in his own language.

Nihal bit his lips. "They are outnumbered. Five trolls and several Goblins against a man and a boy? They have no chance!"

The children had closed around them when they heard what was happening; asking over and over again what the two Elves saw. "They are captured," Nihal whispered.

"They will take them to S'Hadh," Emorlhi added, and exchanged a look with the unicorn. They all knew what this meant.

"The wizard will kill them," Slightly breathed, and Tootles gripped his sword.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Billy Jukes asked Nihal, who shook his head.

"They are too far away from us. Even if Emorlhi and I could run to them, we would need more than a quarter hour, measuring in your time, until we reached them."

Wendy trembled. To know that only a mad dash away, the boy and the man who were so dear to her were facing death filled her with despair and anger.

"Where are Thalion and the others?" Curly demanded.

"Yes, the Chief and his warriors? And the Firbolgs?" Nibs asked. "They wouldn't have let Peter and Hook down!"

"They both just crawled out of the hole from which the lava is now emerging," Emorlhi answered. "They barely escaped the fire."

"What happened up there?" Curly fumed. "Why are they separated from the rest? Why didn't they stay with them?"

"Can you stop asking stupid questions no one has answers for?" John exploded, losing his patience. "The most important thing now is how can we help them NOW!"

"There is no possibility of reaching them in time!" Nihal stated, and the tone of his voice revealed his desperation. Wendy felt ice in her veins as she suspected that both man and boy would be killed. And wherever Thalion and the others were, they weren't close enough, or they would have come to their aid.

Never again see Peter's cheerful grin, or hear his famous crow!. No more adventures with him! Never again she would get those butterflies in her stomach from a 'thimble'! No more laughing at his silly pranks! Never again to hear him quarrel with Hook!

Hook… The man who had captured her attention since the first, the man, who had defeated the giant croc, who could also show gentleness and caring. If he were lost, she would never find out how that side could grow! Never again hear his dark voice murmuring in her ear. Never again to find a kind of understanding in him that other grownups lacked. Never again drown in his piercing forget-me-not-blue eyes …

It would all be over in the next minutes, and Wendy felt tears spring to her eyes. She didn't want to lose either of them! Her fingers touched the spot on her cheek where Hook had given her his quick kiss. Again this wondrous sensation swept through her, wakening the strange wish for … she didn't know what, but there was a tingling yearning in her she couldn't ignore anymore.

And it grew …

… until it suddenly changed into the wild desire to do _something_ about the events there on the side of the volcano. She would NOT wait around for them to die, taking away the boy she was so fond of and the man who now provoked these new feelings in her. And soon the rest of them as well.

All of that went through her in a pair of seconds. Her teary gaze shot between the two Elves, the arguing pirates who pointed at the cannons, and the Indians, arguing among themselves. The boys were squabbling now, each with his own idea, while the fairies and pixies seemed to hold a council meeting. They all were _talking_ instead of _acting_. And action was the only thing that could help now! But what kind of action? How should she help the two and…

The quiver and the bow lay where Nihal had dropped them. And what had Giliath told them when they first met? "Elfish arrows do not miss!" And trolls were vulnerable to the arrowheads -- and often a surprise-attack was more successful than all the plans in the world!

She bared her teeth in a feral grin and met the gaze of the unicorn. It tipped its horn, blinking, as if the magical creature had read her mind. Biting her lip, Wendy slowly retreated, careful not to catch anyone's attention. Then she picked up the bow. A movement beside her revealed a gaping Hobgoblin, who stared open-mouthed at her. Quickly she pressed her index-finger to her lips, and Bumblyn nodded. Wendy straightened, slung the quiver onto her back and again looked at the unicorn, which was clearly pointing with her horn to a spot in front of her. Watching the others, spittle flying and arms waving, she strolled to the spot the magical mare had pointed out, and fixed her gaze at the unicorn. She would need the creature's help to get to Peter and Hook in time and…

And in this moment, the unicorn leapt into action, accompanied by startled shouts and gasps. With two strides, it was in front of her, knelt down and Wendy swung herself on its back, gripping the mane with both hands. Something landed behind her and tiny hands held onto her belt: Bumblyn.

"Brace y'self for Bumblyn!" he squeaked, and Wendy, who had no time to waste, ignored him. She matched the graceful movements as the unicorn rose and darted forward, Wendy holding onto it for dear life. She had never ridden before (the walk from the marshes to the ship could hardly be called 'riding') and to maintain her seat on the back of the glorious creature was not easy, but somehow she managed. She heard shouts behind her, but didn't listen. Peter and Hook were at stake! She must help them!

Along with the noise of the wind in her ears, she heard the subtle sounds of Kailen and Aurora, keeping pace with her. "Quixie fast!" the pixie squealed, both ignoring their sovereigns' commands to remain behind. Wendy just clung to the unicorn's mane.

The unicorn raced through the snowy wood and up the steep slope, its cloven hooves barely touching the ground as it leapt stones and ferns, speeding between bushes and avoiding trees. Wendy had to keep her head down – sometimes flattening on the unicorn's neck to prevent being knocked off by branches. She held tightly with her knees around the silky flanks, concentrating on not falling off the unicorn's back.

Bumblyn clung to her, whimpering. He was, after all, a very small Hobgoblin thrown into a very big and dangerous adventure--far too big and dangerous for such a tiny creature that never left home. And now, clinging to the girl on this high and perilous back, and galloping toward an erupting volcano, scared the living kahooties out of him. Only his vow to this girl kept him by her side, and he was again regretting it!

Finally the woods about them gave way to rocks, but the magical mare almost flew over them, never stumbling, even in the snow. The low rumbling Wendy had heard for awhile now was louder and then she saw the reason: The lava-stream, flowing out of an opening on the volcano's flank and heading toward a valley. The reek was in the air, and the melting snow hissed and steamed over the open snowfield – now eerily lit by the lava.

Wendy thought she might see movement below the crater, but in the fog and darkness she couldn't make out any details. The unicorn, Kailen and Aurora slowed and glanced around. Suddenly the pixie piped softly, "Over there!" His tiny green hand pointed toward shadows at Wendy's left and her breath caught when she saw three giant shapes forcing a smaller one to the ground. She knew who it was.

With trembling hands, she reached for the bow and whispered, "Let me go!" to the Hobgoblin. With weak knees, Bumblyn released her belt and rose to stand on the unicorn's back (she was still moving cautiously and silently forward.). Wendy could see the scene before her now – and an icy fist seemed to grip her heart.

One troll held a torn and pale James Hook; forcing his head onto a stone, and holding his arms back with its other paw. The second one was lifting his cudgel, while the third one watched approvingly. The captain's eyes were squeezed shut, his face twisted in a disgusted grimace – killed by a troll's cudgel – what a way to go!

Steadying her trembling hands with a deep breath, Wendy notched an arrow--no time to consider her actions, nor the fact that she'd never used a bow!--only one chance to save the buccaneer – or he would die in seconds.

------------------------------

Hook struggled magnificently. He was tall, his body strong from living and working years at sea and weapons practice. But even if he hadn't been exhausted by recent events, he wouldn't stand a chance against two massive and cruel trolls now dragging him down the mountain. The buccaneer shoved his feet into the snow, struggling to shake the giant creatures off in spite of his despair, but it was no use. He thought he could make out Peter shouting something, but he couldn't understand the boy's last words to him.

The trolls halted before a knee-high stone, and a brutal kick behind his right knee drove him to kneel in the snow. He tried to steady himself, but his arms were forced behind him and a giant paw pushed him down, his cheekbone now bruised and cold from the stone. Hook cried out in anguish; every muscle protesting against the mistreatment. He saw one of the giants step around him and the stone, a large cudgel in his paws. Hook twisted around to peer up into the broad, primitive face of the troll; knowing that he was looking at his executioner. Once again he struggled, but the troll behind him held him fast, immoveable. A cruel fist seemed to grip his stomach and twist it and his own elevated heartbeat pounded in his ears. This was the end–and not only his, but everyone else's as well. He only could pray that Wendy's group would reach the _Jolly Roger_ in time.

The cudgel rose out of his view, and he felt momentarily sick, squeezing his eyes shut. NO! Not like this! Death in a battle by sword or bullet, or to go down with his ship was one thing, but death from a troll's cudgel was unacceptable!

It has been said that in the last seconds before death, you see your whole life pass before your eyes. For some, it's their greatest regret, for others the greatest event of their lives. But the only thing Hook saw that moment were dove-blue eyes framed by long dark lashes, a cute nose and a pair of pouting strawberry lips in a heart-shaped face. He saw her shining smile; her eyes sparkling in excitement while her cheeks blushed so delicately. He felt her soft fingers touching his cheek the moment before she gave him that innocent but heartbreaking kiss – a peck, no more, but it spoke volumes. He knew that he didn't die alone and unloved. His sweet storyteller, the girl he had come to adore, truly cared, and something rose in his throat between a sob of grief and a shout of triumph. He held his breath, expecting the deadly impact, his body stiff, his blood frozen…

But …

But …

The only thing he felt were the soft fingers of the girl, while strange noises whirled about him.

And the feeling of her hand remained. No impact. Was he dead already?

The wind tore at his curls and clothes and the pressure on his back and arms left … changes he only recognized slowly. Collecting all his courage, he opened his eyes, but the sight of Wendy Darling didn't evaporate; only her expression was different. She was deeply worried.

"Are you hurt, Captain?"

Her voice was near, and he blinked several times. His mind was unusually foggy, and so it was several seconds before he saw that the real girl herself crouched in the snow next to him; her hand lingering on his cheek. Again he heard the strange warm sound – a kind of whinny, accompanied by high voices – and blinked again before he tested his arms.

His back popped a couple of times as he carefully shoved himself into a half-sitting position. He beheld Wendy with the wonder of a man newly born. His eyes finally saw the bow that hung on her body, arrows still in the quiver on her back. The girl was out of breath. Still looking around blankly, he peered up at the troll – or rather what remained of it. Where the giant creature had stood to kill him, a tall, rough grey stone now stood with an extension something like an arm and a stick. Out of the spot that might have been eyes, a bright arrow was sticking out. Beyond the dead troll, something large and white was pursuing the other two, accompanied by a two lights, green and pink.

"Are you hurt?" Wendy repeated, the unfocused gaze of the blue eyes worried her. She examined his pale face, damp with sweat and dirty from soot. She saw that he trembled and realized that she was shivering as well.

She hadn't thought they would make it in time. As the unicorn reached a spot to dare a proper shot, the troll had risen his cudgel high over his ugly head. She had notched the arrow, aiming instinctively, and let the arrow fly as the heavy weapon began its descent toward the buccaneer. For a horrible second she thought that she was too late, expecting the sound of the crushing of the pirate's head. But the arrow found its target – for an Elfish arrow never misses – and had turned the brute creature into stone!

The two other trolls, figuring that death might be in store for them as well, turned away with cries of alarm, and pounded off in the other direction. Wendy had slipped from the unicorn's back, knowing well that the magical creature could deal with the two giants. She ran to Hook, her heart in her throat.

The buccaneer finally realized what had happened. He was still alive! He'd been saved by the girl with the claws and temper of a lioness! _She_ had now rescued _him_, attacked the troll with bow and arrow – what choice of weapons! –and his lovely deliverer now knelt with him!

He stretched his left hand toward her sweet face, touched her cold cheek, while his gaze lingered on her large, fierce eyes – eyes he had thought he would never see again. And then he simply pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. He pressed his lips to her temple and cheek before he rested his head against hers, inhaling the soft scent of her hair and her unique fragrance. He felt her slender arms hesitantly come around him, and her hand stroke his back. A deep sigh escaped her, while she dug in closer to him – needing his nearness like he needed hers in this moment. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you so much, me hearty."

A sob nearly escaped her as she heard his dark voice using this name, only moments before sure she would never hear it again. "You're welcome," she murmured and clung to him. Now, as the first terror left her, she felt weariness coming in a tall wave. Not only the weariness of her well-used body, but of her soul as well. Tears rose in her eyes and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

Hook felt it, and even if exhausted himself from effort and horror, he lifted his hand and stroked her hair, holding her even more closely. They both had reached their limits. They sat thus for a long, quiet moment; absorbing the comfort each offered the other, until a gentle whicker awoke Hook's attention.

He looked up and directly into a pair of violet blue eyes in a long white face. For a moment he blinked, confused. There were no horses in Neverland! Then he became aware of the long spiraled horn that grew between the animal's eyes, and he saw what was staring at him, even as he stared at it.

He had heard stories of the unicorn that lived in Neverland. He thought it might have been stories of a rum-soaked crewmember or one of those fairies they caught occasionally, but he never believed it – until now. With growing anxiety, he observed the creature beside him, from its cloven hooves, long white legs, the bowed neck and the long shining mane. Uncertainly, he met the unicorn's gaze which seemed to analyze and appraise him critically, looking into the hidden parts of his soul, before it shook its beautiful head and whinnied softly.

Wendy, who was still encased in the man's arms, her head on his shoulder, smiled as she saw the magical mare. "Hello, Lady," she greeted. "Did you chase them away?"

The unicorn nodded; something like amusement in its eyes. "They still run for their lives." Hook gasped when he heard the gentle voice coming from the animal. _It could talk?_

An amused snort escaped the unicorn, as it addressed the man who held the girl still in an embrace as if the whole world would fall apart if he would let go: "Yes, of course I can talk. All creatures of the world have their own kind of language. It is only humans who are too ignorant or blind to hear or see it."

Hook lifted a brow. Had this … this … bizarre creature just called him 'ignorant?'

The unicorn cocked its head and observed the pirate-captain closer. It could feel the man's fatigue and his deep need for closeness. There was still a remnant of bitterness, anger and hate lingering in him, but they were shrinking, and had made room for softer and warmer feelings – especially toward the girl. Yes, this man had killed and did not regret it, but he wasn't truly evil. That much she sensed.

Hook lowered his gaze, unable to bear the intense look of the unicorn any longer. "Did … did you come with her?" he asked, not sure to whom he'd spoken.

Wendy responded, "I rode on her all the way up here. Otherwise I couldn't have made it in time."

"Ridden like she never done nothin' else, she did!" piped Kailen above them, and Bumblyn, who hobbled nearer, grumbled, "Like a bat from the Below! Bumblyn's poor backside! Bruised every bone in my body!"

Hook had to smile as he took in Wendy's little three magical companions. "You have loyal friends, beauty. They follow you anywhere, even straight into danger." He shook his head and frowned, just now realizing that she was HERE, up on the mountain. Again. Where he told her to get away from. "And again you disobeyed my order! I told you I would lay you over my knee if I saw you near this damn volcano again!"

Wendy, still nestled against him, smiled fearlessly at him. "Feel free. But maybe you'd wait until you see your cabin. Then I'll only get spanked once."

The buccaneer groaned and pressed another kiss to her forehead, having neither the strength nor the will to fight this sweet longing. "You're slowly driving me mad, kitten, do you know this?"

She giggled and winked at him. "I won't tell anyone!"

He smiled, the muscles of his face trying out the unfamiliar expression of happiness, and looked up as he heard four very different voices. Giggling. Smile turning to a scowl at the grinning pixie and the smirking Hobgoblin, he rose; pulling Wendy with him. Then he addressed the unicorn. "Take her directly back to the ship," he said to the unicorn, before he addressed Wendy, "then you'll have an opportunity to undo the chaos before I get back."

"But I want to--"

"NO! I must pursue that miserable wizard to save your prince's sorry hide – much too dangerous for you!"

Her prince --? Peter! Wendy gasped and looked around. "Where IS Peter? What--?"

"He took Peter to sacrifice him, to destroy some sort of mystical barrier which prevents the volcano from erupting. I must follow immediately," Hook told her as gently as he could. He saw her distress and stroked her cheek. "Don't be afraid, Wendy. I'll do anything I in my power to save him."

"You will need the only weapon that can kill the Dark One," the unicorn interrupted him; annoyed that this mortal _man_ had dared give her an order.

"_Celeb-Valar_ lost its virtue when I used it to save Peter the first time," Hook answered impatiently, and the unicorn snorted, irritated.

"Fool! Any power can be restored!"

"How?" Hook snapped, angry at being called a fool again_. First the Elves and now this talking horse!_ "Even S'Hadh said it's useless now. He's a wizard--he'd know these things!"

"And I'm a unicorn – and have lived many more lifetimes than that cold dead shell of a magician!"

They stared at each other until Wendy broke in. "Just let her try, Captain. What do you have to lose? If you're right, you're right. If you're wrong, that's good as well." He frowned at her, standing there with her hands on her hips like another irritating child he knew, and looking up at him. "You said that you'd do anything in your power to save him. Well, DO it."

Hook made a face, "You can really be demanding at times, my dear."

She bobbed her eyebrows. "You're my shining example!"

Grinding his teeth – this wasn't over yet! – he stomped through the snow. "Come with me!" he said, and everyone obeyed the summons and followed him. Wendy seated the bow on her shoulder then ran after the buccaneer. Hook strode up the mountain to the spot where they were captured by S'Hadh.

The sword lay there, dark and diseased. "There!" he said and pointed at the weapon. "You've got your work cut out for you."

A mocking whinny was his answer. The beast stood beside him. "Step back and turn about," she ordered, "and take care that the maid's eyes are closed – as well as yours!" the unicorn added toward Aurora, Kailen and the nervous Hobgoblin.

"So secretive?" Hook scoffed and had a moment later an angry unicorn practically in his face. He backed away from the horn pointed between his eyes and the even more pointed violet glare beyond it.

"No, you silly man, but if you want to be able to see anything else afterward, then you should obey!" she hissed; her eyes darkening before glancing at the girl. "Why are you so eager to save this impossible mortal?"

Wendy smiled. "Because I couldn't bear to see him dead."

Hook raised a brow to hide the wave of warmth washing through him. She had been desperate to save him, and now even said out loud that she couldn't bear it to see him dead? "Quite a difference from 'old, alone and done for' into a crocodile's gullet," he teased.

The girl glowered, "Might we leave this subject finally? After all, you did make me walk the plank--"

"SILENCE!" Even a unicorn's patience could wear out. "We have no more time to waste! Turn around, cover your eyes and don't open them until I release you!"

"Aye, Madame!" Hook turned away, pulled Wendy in front of him and laid his hand over her eyes.

"You have a preference for blindfolding me, don't you?" Wendy heard herself saying – more to distract herself than to tease him. She heard him chuckling while he held her close.

"But this time I will not force you onto a swaying piece of wood, beauty."

"I suppose not. After all, we are on a mountain." He had to grin at her retort.

Hook opened his mouth to respond when a strange noise began behind him. It was not the wind, it was not singing, it might have been a vast orchestra but the sound was so otherworldly as to defy description. As it grew, it spiraled upward, making the trees tremble, crawling up their backs with warm delicious fingers. It was the sound of stars on a warm moonless night, of fairies dancing, of whales mating and nightingales singing. They fought the desire to turn and embrace the source, when the light started to grow. All had their eyes squeezed shut, but the radiance increased to the point where it – almost--started to hurt, but there was no heat. The music reached a crescendo of ecstasy, and the five of them cried out unconsciously. As the song slowly descended, they found themselves breathing quickly, hearts thumping in their chests. The light gradually decreased.

The man found he had been clutching Wendy to him, and loosened his grip.

"It is finished!" the unicorn said and they turned about. There, suspended in the air, shimmered the Elfish sword; glistening with the light of its renewed power. The unicorn trembled, clearly tired. Whatever she did, it had cost her a lot. "Take it," she panted, "and save the eternal boy! If you fail, we all die!" Hook nodded, cautiously reaching out and clasping the weapon. The hilt was warm, and nestled into his hand as the first time. "Hurry now!" the mare said and glanced up toward the crater where the red light was increasing. "The boy needs you."

The buccaneer shoved the sword into the snow, picked up Wendy at her waist – she gasped in surprise – and plopped her on the mare's back. The unicorn whinnied in shock. "There you go, sweetie!" He picked up the squealing Hobgoblin and set him in front of the girl. "Take them down to Pirate's Cove, unicorn! And if this volcano erupts, then you and the others should be able to find a way out of this hell." He glanced up into Wendy's large pleading eyes. "Thank you for saving me," he whispered, took her fingers in his and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand – a gesture so polite and gallant it made Wendy catch her breath. Then he clapped the unicorn on its rump. "Away with you!"

The unicorn reared up, snorting angrily. "How dare you!" she cried, her horn glowing.

"I 'dare' because I want the kitten safe – and have no time to waste! And stop hopping about! If she falls and gets hurt, I have your horn for it!" With that, he took the sword and raced up the mountain.

The unicorn watched him against the red glow above, her flanks trembling. "Bold, impudent, contumelious mortal! To treat _me_ like a simple, stupid horse and to threaten and to hit me! And how is it he can touch me? He should reeling, on the ground now, bereft of all senses and sanity!"

She felt Wendy's had stroking its neck. "Don't be offended. James Hook is more or less immune to magical things. As for his behavior … well … his charm is rough, but he doesn't mean evil by it. He simply worries about things and--"

"--and you!" Bumblyn inserted, and glanced up at Wendy.

"Silly!" she tried to smile. "He worries about his ship."

"Yes – and you!" the Hobgoblin repeated. "He haaaoooo--!" Bumblyn squealed again as the unicorn whirled about and began her gallop down the mountain. Wendy almost lost balance as well, and clung to the unicorn's mane.

"Ordering me about!" the mare still grumbled. "ME! If this man weren't so necessary at the moment, he would learn what it means to treat a unicorn thus!" She leaped several stones and felt the girl's amusement and warm feelings for the buccaneer. "Careful, maiden. Men like him are dangerous for girls."

Wendy ducked to avoid some branches in the dark. "He would never hurt me!" she said, and the unicorn snorted in amusement and irritation.

"No, not with hook nor sword – but eventually with his longing." The mare avoided several trees while it darted through the woods. Behind them, the volcano rumbled angrily. "Be careful!" the unicorn repeated; voicing what she had seen and felt in the buccaneer's soul. "This man will aim for your heart one day!"

--------------------------

Hook raced through the snow, energized by a new purpose, at what had become breakneck speed due to the melting snow. Twice he stumbled, but leaped up, realizing that every wasted second could decide victory or defeat. He knew he would need more than luck to defeat the Goblins and trolls, and to trick S'Hadh again. And he had no idea how he would do this!

As he ran, he heard a familiar sound overhead, and looked up into the face of Kelaino. Her beady eyes were ablaze with hate, her razor claws were stretched toward him.

She'd been attracted by a shimmering at the corner of her eyesight. It vanished too quickly to recognize, but it made her wary. The master – finally – allowed her to go and see what had caused it, after they reached the top of the volcano. It had been several moments until her sharp eyes found the figure climbing the mountain--the one-handed man!

Cursing crudely, she flew lower. Why hadn't the master allowed her to finish off this weak yet dangerous creature? Those idiot trolls couldn't do it, of course – she never trusted a pea-sized brain – but SHE would not fail this time. She didn't care HOW the man had escaped certain death. She would be the one to tear him apart – _NOW_!

Hook threw himself aside, eluding her talons at the last moment, and reached for _Celeb-Valar_. But he couldn't get it in time, for Kelaino was again overhead; screeching in pure wrath. Instinctively, the captain slashed with his metal claw and buried it deep in the harpy's neck.

Blood splattered and the creature let out a shrill howl. Hook felt two talons piercing the fabric of his garments and sinking into the skin of his right hip, but he didn't release the beast that hunted him as the crocodile had done, and slashed the deadly hook through her throat. Never again would he allow an animal to haunt his nightmares!

The harpy faltered and fell to the ground; spasming in the throes of death. Hook rolled away to his knees, holding his bleeding side with his hand. "Die, you filthy sorry excuse for a living thing!" he panted in grim satisfaction, as the creature finally stopped twitching.

For a moment, it grew silent, then a dark shadow – more a mist than anything else – rose from the corpse. It wailed thinly toward the sky, and disappeared into the wind. Kelaino, the daughter of the north-wind, was no more. And with her, the strong winter wind died away as well.

Hook fought for breath – and against the new pain in his side. Damn it all! He was tired of being tenderized like a steak! Suddenly, above his panting he heard footsteps quite near, and several shadows came out of the darkness. The pirate again reached for the Elfish sword, ready to fight who ever dared to cross him, but he relaxed when he recognized Thalion.

The Elf stopped mid-step and stared – disbelieving--at the mortal man he thought killed by the lava in a cave. Hook! Alive! Hope awoke in the commander, the hope that the boy was also still alive. "Captain!" he called, a broad smile on his handsome face. He closed the distance to the man, clasping him at his shoulders. "You're alive! How did you escape? Is Peter well?"

Hook was still breathing heavily – he really needed a rest – and pushed some damp curls out of his face. "Commander Thalion, that's a long story to be told when we have time! But I'm relieved you and the others are out of that volcano as well! Everyone's escaped, haven't they?"

The Elf nodded. "Aye! The Firbolgs are seeking ingress to their domain. They can't survive here in the cold. And I've sent the Indians and your crew away. We thought you and Peter dead, and wanted to buy the others more time to reach the ship, which is why we are here." He looked about for the boy. "Where is Peter?"

"S'Hadh has him. I am on my way to save his silly self again." He pulled out _Celeb-Valar_, which instantly began to glow.

Thalion and the other Elves who had reached them gasped. "How was this done?" the Elfish commander whispered, shocked.

A half grin appeared on Hook's face. "Not by me, but by that arrogant unicorn."

"Unicorn?"

This time all Elves spoke as one, their eyes widening. Then Thalion pursed his lips. "We saw the light in the darkness – from the plateau below. It was the unicorn, wasn't it?"

The buccaneer nodded. "Yes. It came with Wendy on its back. The girl saved me… But that's another story."

One of the Elf warriors pointed at the dead harpy. "Kelaino…" he murmured. "Did you defeat her?" he asked Hook; respect in his brown eyes.

The buccaneer nodded. "About bloody time." He gestured toward the crater. "We must hurry. There are two trolls and several Goblins more to kill before we can reach Peter and that cursed warlock. He wants to throw the boy into the crater to set the volcano free. That bastard is defeated, but wants to take us all with him – as a complete and utter revenge!"

Thalion paled, pausing. Then he whirled about, shouting orders, then addressed the buccaneer. "What ever comes, Captain, don't wait for us or try to help us when we face the Dark One's servants. Your only concern is Peter. You must reach him at any cost!"

Hook nodded. "My thoughts exactly!" With that, he continued forward; climbing, sprinting, and climbing again; man and Elves side by side.

And as the volcano trembled and grumbled, they knew that time was running short to save Neverland from the devouring inferno …

TBC…

Dear Readers,

hopefully you are all still on your toes (grin). The next update will last more than a week certainly (I am so sorry), but I think it is going to worth it. Please, please let me know, how you liked it so far.

Love

Lywhn


	37. The Final Battle

**Chapter 36 – The Final Battle**

Despite the winter air, it grew warmer with each passing minute. The darkness had given way to the familiar red glow, while the reek of it bit the nose and stung the eyes. The noises were very loud now, and, judging from the troll's uncertain steps, the ground was trembling again.

Peter, who hung upside down over the troll's shoulder, head aching, knew that they had reached the crater – and that the moment of his planned death now approached. He had kept a close eye on the way the group had come, hoping to see a glimpse of one of the Elves, but the steep path remained empty. He fought with the rising despair, but was nearly ready to put hope aside.

Now, as the troll stopped and he heard S'Hadh's rasping orders for his bearer to set him on his feet, fear again gripped the boy. His time was nearly gone. Suddenly he was dropped from the troll's shoulder and fell hard. The snow was gone here. The heat had melted it away, so he fell on stone. He blinked into the noxious air and coughed, hurting in new places. The troll and four of the Goblins surrounded him, while the largest Goblin supported his master.

The wizard turned and walked toward the eerie light that shimmered from below the stony edge of the precipice. The smoke whispered around his tall shape and mingled with his icy-grey hair. "Bring the boy to me!" he ordered.

Peter swallowed hard on a dry throat, and as two of the Goblins dragged him to his feet, he felt sick. He didn't need any of his celebrated imagination to know that the time had arrived. A glance at his captors' faces told him that they were uneasy as well. Standing on top of a volcano ready to erupt would make anyone uneasy – even a Goblin.

"He won't keep his word. You'll never make it to safety," he began hoarsely. "He cares nothing for you or--"

He was shoved forward roughly. "Ssssilence! The Masssster would never break hissss word!" one of the ugly creatures hissed, and shoved him again toward S'Hadh, standing at the rim of the crater; waiting.

"You wish!" he retorted.

"Attempting to thwart their loyalty is useless, boy."

The warlock's voice was unimpressive, and his breath heaved – a certain sign that his injury was affecting him. "They fear my wrath more than death."

Peter straightened. "They fear your wrath, old man?" he scoffed, hiding his growing horror. "How can that be? Even as you're dying you want to kill yourself. Why should they fear you?"

The cold black eyes seemed to take on a preternatural brightness. "Child's play, my boy. Because death is not the worst thing that can happen to you. And if my wound allows me the time, I will demonstrate." He nodded at the two Goblins holding Peter, and they dragged the struggling boy to the wizard's side. "Your will to resist is impressive," the wizard remarked calmly, "but it will not save you." He made gestured wearily downward. "Have you ever seen what it looks like inside your island?"

Peter was forced to the edge, and he dared to look down. Big mistake. The sight of the roiling lava with its swimming black spots, the geological heat, and the reek and noise sounding like a hungry carnivore awoke the mortal fright in him. Pressing his lips together, he tried desperately to mask it. If he had to die now, would not give S'Hadh the satisfaction of his terror. "Looks like hot soup," he said, forcing the words out through a grimace, but even in his own ears his voice sounded hollow.

The shadow of a smile flickered over the wizard's face –admitting that the boy's refusal to show his fear woke the villain's respect. Then, suddenly, he pressed his hand against his wound, and moaned piteously. He whispered something, and a purplish light played around his long fingers. He pressed his eyes shut and took a deep breath before relaxing. The tall Goblin supported him by wrapping one thin arm around his waist, and the warlock nodded to him before he rose to his full height again. "The time has come. Send the others away. Only the two holding our little friend here shall remain. I'll help them to escape afterward."

The tall Goblin nodded and barked something in his crude language to the others. They quickly backed away, performing several deep bows as quickly as possible.

Peter's met S'Hadh's gaze and saw the brutal finality in it. A fist gripped his stomach and twisted it, while his heart started to pound. It is one of the worst situations to find yourself in – to see disaster approaching, unable to do anything about it; forced to watch helplessly. Peter Pan had faced death often, but the raw cold that crept through him was the worst ever, and had nothing to do with the wizard's evil winter. Perhaps because he was so tired; perhaps because he knew that, with his death, his friends and allies were hopelessly lost as well – or possibly because he saw the cruelty with which he was to be murdered.

None of that mattered, because the only thing going through his mind was that he would be thrown into that glowing mass beneath him. What had Hook said to him only a half hour ago? That he had saved the man from the most painful death possible, getting him through the hole before the lava could reach him? And then he remembered the flash of heat that once grazed his leg when he flew through a thunderstorm.

He swallowed hard, his breath in his throat as the wizard turned toward the crater and lifted his hands. Evil words came to his thin lips – words that should never be spoken. Like an answer, the mountain began to roar again.

The warlock turned back to Peter, who couldn't hold back a shiver anymore. "Do you know why this volcano is called the 'Mount of No Return'?" S'Hadh rasped quietly. "Because no one who has ever sat one foot at its top has survived." He watched the two trolls and the other Goblins running down the mountain. "No one!" he repeated, then turned his gaze back to Peter.

The boy's face was pale and filthy, his eyes reddened, almost black with fright, biting his lips to hide how much they trembled. His breath was uneven, and it was obvious that only the Goblins' claws held him on his feet. S'Hadh waited for a moment; waited for the boy to plead for mercy, but he did not. "As I said, it will be quick," the wizard finally said when he realized that the eternal boy would not beg for his own life. "But for your friends it will be long minutes of panic and terror until they see that there is no way out for them – until the fire comes."

It was an invisible blow that sent Peter reeling. "Why?" he whispered, moistening his lips with his tongue. His mouth felt like sand. "Why must you kill them as well? Is it not enough that you've killed Hook and now murder me?"

"No. I may have not succeeded in conquering the whole world – but it will lose its seed of dreams and hope. At least the first part of my plan will come to pass. No one will ever look for the second star to the right ever again. And no one will remember Peter Pan, the boy who would never grow up, because there will be no one alive to tell your story!"

Peter started as he heard those words. "You listened to what I told Wendy?" he gasped.

A small smile again flickered across S'Hadh's lips. "I have ears everywhere, boy–especially in my own domain. Nevertheless you managed to trick me, but that is history now." He paused a long moment, looking into the crater. Peter knew that the final moment had come. Almost softly S'Hadh continued: "Good-bye, Peter Pan. This is probably the only hell you have to face." He waved toward boy's captors. "Now."

The icy panic broke through his control, and with a shout Peter reared back kicking, threw his head back at one Goblin's face, while the two creatures tried to shove him over the edge. He could feel gravel sliding under his moccasins, pebbles rolled into the fiery abyss, and for a moment he slid inches as the heat grew, but still he fought with all his strength – even if it was useless, attempting to defeat two Goblins with his bare hands. But he didn't quit. Panting, he planted his feet and managed to wrest one arm from their clumsy hands. His small flying fist struck one Goblin on its flat nose, a surprisingly vulnerable spot on a Goblin, and the creature howled in pain and kicked at him. Peter lost his balance and fell, but with the speed of desperation, he swept his leg under the creature and off its feet. At the same time, he struggled against the second Goblin that grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head back so hard that Peter saw shadows crossing before his eyes.

"He must live as he crosses the barrier!" S'Hadh's voice sounded as if from far away, and suddenly the wicked grip loosened from his scalp. For a moment he felt only the relief of the pain in his neck and shoulder – and found himself being rolled toward the edge. With another shout he struggled again and saw that beneath him the fiery lava bubbled, as his head shoulders were forced over the crater, hair and eyebrows already singed.

Suddenly his executioner shrieked, and the hands disappeared from his body. Fighting for breath in the heat, he hastily crawled away from the edge and turned around. The Goblin lay beside him – a bright arrow sticking from its back. And then another shrill yelp sounded from further away, accompanied by a shout that made Peter's heart leap.

"ELVES!"

A wide smile split the boy's face – and vanished as the second Goblin threw itself on him. The foul breath, the sharp teeth and the blank hate in the yellow eyes awoke a deep loathing in Peter. There was a different pain as the sharp claws of the skeletal creature drew blood from his left arm, while it tried to shove him into the crater. But Peter's aggression had returned with the knowledge that the Elves were nearby. Help was so near--he had to hold on! Suddenly he found his opponent's weak spot and kicked its belly with all might. The Goblin was thrown back and …

… fell over the edge. Its scream dropped away, then suddenly cut off.

Panting, Peter sat a second near the edge of the crater and tried to catch his breath and to orient himself as a pair of long legs stepped into his range of view, clad in leather and mail. He raised his eyes up the body of the large Goblin that S'Hadh had leaned on. An evil smirk appeared on its dark face, drawing its leg back for a kick. Acting on instinct, Peter rolled away and heard the Goblin cursing in his snarling tongue. He grabbed Peter from behind, lifting him into the air. Crying out in shock, he looked back, directly into the Goblin's face.

"What now?" the beast hissed and only laughed as Peter tried to kick at his captor. "Thissss issss ussselessss! Go to hell!"

The boy yelled in new rising panic as the Goblin now approached the crater-edge, ready to throw him over the edge.

NO! He'd been so close to escape! So close to rescue!  
Frantically, sight blurring with the pressure of the enemy's arms, he kicked and struggled, but the Goblin's grip was iron, holding out the boy to fling him and…

And Peter fell hard to the ground as the Goblin suddenly let him drop. The beast collapsed beside him like a load of rocks, a curved sword protruding from its belly.

Peter let out a sob of relief, no longer trying to mask the turmoil in his soul. His limbs trembled as he tried to roll himself onto his knees; hearing S'Hadh's voice through the dull thunder of the volcano. The wizard cursed hideously in his sickening language, only feet away, and the boy watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as their enemy sent a streak of deep purple light in the direction of his rescuer. A cry rose up, and Peter knew that the light had struck the ancient warrior. He disappeared in the gloom, but the boy couldn't tell if the Elf had fallen to the ground or had simply … vanished. He hadn't had a chance.

"Coward!" he shouted weakly, and rose on shaking legs. Through the mist he saw the tall slim silhouettes of other Elves, struggling against the Goblins. Only one troll was still on its feet, which meant another had been defeated.

"They arrive too late!" S'Hadh addressed the boy, who turned toward him. The wizard shambled toward Peter; his face twisted in ancient utter hatred – a hate so deep as to drown hell, never allowing any light into the space where once a soul might have dwelt. "They will not save you!"

"They are already doing it!" Peter retorted; his voice far from firm.

The wizard's dark wrath seemed to drain Peter of any power or courage he had. "But before they defeat my servants, your bones will be melting in lava!" the warlock snarled, coming nearer.

"Stay where you are, you corrupt old obscenity!" the eternal boy hissed back, his eyes flickering toward the sword sticking out of the dead Goblin. S'Hadh caught the movement as suddenly another javelin-like shaft shot out of his fingers, and the corpse of the Goblin disintegrated into a heap of ash – weapons as well. Peter gasped. The sight was dreadful, and he knew now how the Elf had died. He felt his gorge rise.

"Now, boy!" S'Hadh ordered and his now glowing eyes boring into Peter's soul, while he pointed at the crater.

"NO!"

Another shaft left the wizard's finger and dug a smoking hole into the stony earth at his feet.

Peter jumped, startled. "I will NOT throw myself to my own death!" he cried – and another shaft gouged his right leg. The pain was searing, and with a scream he fell to the ground.

"Now you know--some suffering can be worse than death!" S'Hadh stated flatly, and if Peter hadn't been distracted by the pain of the strike, he would have heard how the wizard's breathing heaved. Every manifestation of magic the villain performed drained more out of him, along with the fact that the dreadful wound from the Blade was bleeding again. If he had only been able to physically shove the boy into the crater, he might be able to defeat the Elves later, might have been able to defend himself with his magic. But if he but touched Peter, the boy Prince would die instantly, and then the volcano would not erupt, even if S'Hadh pushed the boy in afterward.

It was no longer a question of the wizard's defeat, but of his revenge – not only on that tiresome, exasperating little troublemaker who had turned his majestic victory into utter defeat, but on the whole world.

S'Hadh had never known hope, never a dream – not after his family was killed all those centuries ago. All feeling died with them that day. The center of his being remained a terrible empty hole since that day. The only treasures that woke a fire in him were knowledge … and power. He had seen what those foolish sentiments did to the humans, saw the simpering smiles, the tears, the weakness that dreams and joy brought to others, and he determined to stay far above them. And, since no one seemed to understand him – not even Giliath, who called himself his friend – he was compelled to free himself of all emotional bonds forever!

Never again would he hurt as he did that night, seeing parents and siblings die. And if he had to face death now, too, then he would take every mortal hope with him. They would learn what it meant to live as he had, and therefore he would destroy Neverland – and that cursed BOY, by any means!

Peter, still holding his leg, the streak black and cauterized by the bolt, blinked up to the tall warlock; his mind not grasping what was happening. As he saw S'Hadh lift his hands again, he gasped "NO!" and rolled quickly aside. He avoided the indigo shaft of light this time (it was shorter, less powerful), but a new one was already forming in the wizard's hands. "Leap, boy, or I will sting you again," S'Hadh taunted.

Peter, still sprawled in the muck of what was left of the snow, started to crawl away. His leg seemed afire. He wanted to scream, to whimper; to beg the warlock to stop this torment, but his pride and his will were too strong. He looked up at the looming shape; the ice-grey hair and black cape lifting in the wind. The wizard's ancient face seemed to melt in the smoke, only his glowing eyes now visible. For a moment Peter remembered another time, as though he had seen this before, and …

And behind S'Hadh, a second form emerged in the fumes, drawing nearer. A black frock-coat embroidered with silver and gold, and a curly black mane blew in the wind; a short sword winked in the left hand, while a sharp hook glinted on the right – now lifted for a deadly blow.

Frozen, Peter stared at the man who had come to finally take the dark wizard down. The very same man he thought brutally murdered by the three trolls ... the one he had longed for to see again just to tell him what was so important for both of them …

… the man that had come in his last nightmare to help him and--who had been killed in that dream by the bolt the warlock hurled at him! His nightmare! This was exactly like his nightmare, and…

Gasping Peter tore his eyes away from Hook, hoping he did not betray the man's presence, but it was too late. S'Hadh had seen Peter's eyes change, knew that someone approached from behind and spun about; his hands raised, dimly surrounded by deadly light.

Peter screamed, and with the speed of thought, threw himself on the wizard's back; knocking him to the ground. He saw the eerie glow darting from the warlock's fingers, and heard Hook's cry, but he couldn't look at the buccaneer. He knew that he had to avoid S'Hadh's hands! Peter called on all his skill and boyish experience to stay on the warlock's back and to keep him from flipping over. It was like trying to control a troll, and he stank of death.

S'Hadh let out a shout of rage and suddenly rose up, sending the weakened boy tumbling off his back. Near him, S'Hadh crouched and stared at him, again lifting his fingers in Peter's direction. The boy acted on instinct, grabbing up a fist-sized stone and threw it at the wizard, striking the warlock's temple, and S'Hadh collapsed.

Still fighting for breath, Peter looked around when he heard another moan not far from him. Over there, he saw Hook lying on his back, unmoving. A thin band of smoke rose from his chest. "No!" the leader of the Lost Boys whispered when he saw what had happened. "No! Please no! PLEASE!" This time he did plead – not to the wizard, but to that higher power who seemed always to be looking after him.

Tears blurred his vision – the terrible helpless feeling of failure. He saw that his horrible dream had really been a kind of prophecy, and Hook truly had fallen prey to S'Hadh's mysterious powers. The momentary burst of joy he'd felt at seeing Hook alive had become a knife in his soul.

A movement at his side, and he saw S'Hadh laboriously trying to rise, holding his injured head. The sight of the wizard who had made his life a misery during the last horrible days, threatened his land and friends, hurt them and now killed the man who had gone from enemy to friend, woke in the boy a blinding animation. All his sorrow and pain and anger were focused into a consuming rage.

Surrendering to this liberating wrath, he rose, dashed to the fallen pirate-captain, and took _Celeb-Valar_, which had slipped from Hook's grip. It still shone, and its hilt felt warm in Peter's fingers. He whirled to see the wizard had risen to his feet, swaying. S'Hadh clutched his side now and his old face was ashen-yellow. He turned his eyes to his young enemy – no longer pale, but furious. Trembling, he gathered all his power one last time and the evil light shone in his quivering fingers.

Peter dropped to all fours as the spell shot his direction. It flew past him – he felt its heat on his back—down the mountain and exploded against the side of the mountain, back the way they had come – and where the Elves now routed the rest of the Goblins. Thalion, at the head of the troop, saw the deadly light, shouted a warning in his language to his comrades and the Elves fled–trying to put some distance between them and the new avalanche, as the spell bored into it and exploded.

Peter desperately hoped that Thalion and his remaining comrades survived the bolt, but returned to his purpose, and he turned back to the wizard – the creature that knew neither empathy, nor compassion, nor mercy. S'Hadh's eyes were coal-black again. The spell had exhausted him. In spite of this, he raised his hands, as if to send deadly power at the boy, but Peter was upon him.

"You want to die, old man?" the eternal boy snarled; his eyes flashing. "I grant your wish!" The blade glowed brilliantly, so close to the destiny for which it was created, and the Prince of Neverland drove the curved blade deep into the wizard's chest.

S'Hadh gasped; his black eyes bulging from his ancient visage. He brought his hands up, and Peter quickly leaped back, out of their deadly range. Fighting for breath, the warlock clasped his fingers around the hilt, trying to drag it out, but the Elfish sword, forged for this purpose; filled with the only power that could kill him, didn't give away. Its light seemed to grow, until it filled the wizard completely, the creature that hadn't seen true light in centuries. It poured out of every inch of his body, his nostrils, his eyes, and S'Hadh cried out, echoed in the volcano's roar and shaking. Panting, Peter watched his enemy stumbling away. S'Hadh might have taken a mortal injury–finally–but he still fought death.

The dying thing staggered toward the crater's edge as the ground beneath them heaved again, and looked once more at the eternal boy; not accepting what happened. He--most powerful of all wizards--had been defeated by a human child, whose life and joy had been stronger than all of his evil and hate. Could Giliath have been right all those centuries ago? The Elf tried to teach the young boy S'Hadh once was that not magic and power were not answers for survival and inner peace, but faith … love ...

The eternal boy, who stood bruised and weeping near the man, proved Giliath right, because he DID love, even if he didn't acknowledge it.

The Mount of No Return rumbled and shivered again. The dark wizard lost his balance, knees giving out; his body finally succumbing to its injuries and his unnaturally long life. Far below, he saw the roiling lava; patches of dark crust swimming on the surface. For a long moment, he felt free--the first time since the brutal attack on his village--as every weight left him and he soared in the air. He could fly. Something reached the dark void where once a heart had beat and filled him: Happiness. The world grew silent, and the lava glowed like the sea at sundown – shimmering in warm red-gold, waving and inviting. He didn't even scream, dead before his body hit the lava, swallowed into the foundation of the island …

Peter stood looking wide-eyed at the spot where only seconds before S'Hadh stumbled. He didn't need to look into the crater to know that the dark warlock, the menace that had threatened Neverland and all inhabitant of the world, was gone – swallowed by the same weapon whereby he would have wreaked vengeance against Peter and against the whole world.

_Celeb-Valar_ had completed the purpose for which it was made.

The war for Neverland was over!

The fairies, pixies, Sheeries, gnomes and all the other Little People, the Indians, the animals and plants were safe again. The children were safe!

But at what a price! So many Elves had fallen in this fight, as well as fairies, pixies and – what cut him like a knife – Indian warriors. And he was certain that the pirates had losses as well. Hook had sent his whole crew into the battle the enemy and—

Hook!

The high-spirits that had wakened in him were instantly displaced by dread. Breath catching in his throat, Peter turned toward the body of the pirate-captain, hurled to the ground like a rag doll. Swallowing the lump in his throat, the boy slowly walked with heavy heart to the buccaneer and sank to his knees beside him. The black frock-coat and the waistcoat were burned over the pirate's chest, and a thin wisp of smoke rose from the scorched fabric. Hook's face was white and he seemed not to breathe anymore.

Tears blurred Peter's sight and a sob escaped him. No! This couldn't be! Not Hook! Not this powerful man!

The boy stretched a hand toward the buccaneer, but his fingers trembled, and he didn't touch him. "Hook?" he whispered. That is, he wanted to say it, but no sound came out. His throat was constricted, painful, with grief and unshed tears, and the boy bit his lower lip. Finally finding his voice again he choked: "Hook? Do you hear me?"

No reaction.

"James!" he murmured, dread filling him. The thought that the buccaneer really could be dead terrified him more than death in the volcano had. "Why?" he whispered, disregarding the previous thought as grief turned to anger, mingled with his sorrow, and burst out of him. "WHY?" he cried. "Why did you come at him from behind? I warned you, didn't I? Hook, you promised! You PROMISED!" Tears rolled down his dirty cheeks. "You promised, you stupid codfish!"

He put out his hand again, this time touching the burnt velvet of the coat and waistcoat, pulling them away from the body. The material of the coat disintegrated under his fingers, but that of the waistcoat had to be parted. Peter ripped it, sobbing now. "You idiot man! Why, for heaven's sake? Did it violate your precious pride so much to listen to me?" He pulled at the fabric again, and looked on the buccaneer's chest and the remains of the bandage, dark and reeking. And the skin he saw there was … reddened.

Peter blinked. No blisters. No burnt flesh. Only a patch that looked sunburned. Hastily he yanked open the waistcoat and dared a closer look. No deadly wound gaped in the man's chest!

Slowly the boy came to see that this meant the buccaneer was only … unconscious, not dead, not even seriously wounded! With trembling fingers, he grabbed the pirate's shoulders and shook him. "Hook? Wake up!" He swallowed the next sob rising in his throat; this time out of relief. "WAKE UP! Damn you, don't think you can take your beauty-sleep here, while the whole world stands at the edge of destruction!"

The volcano thundered again, stronger than before, and the temperature edged higher. Peter bit his lips. The Mount of No Return might not erupt, but the lava was still rising. And he and the buccaneer were still near the edge of the crater. The boy shook Hook's shoulders harder. "Wake up! We have to leave this place! Wake up, Hook!" he yelled and suddenly found his right wrist in an iron grip and a hook about his left, and forget-me-not-blue eyes, reddened with exhaustion.

"Hammer and tongs, Pan, shut up and stop shaking me! I already have a headache bad enough to kill a troll!" Hook moaned, cursing at the boy for being so rough.

The boy didn't try to hide the broad happy grin that spread over his face, new tears blurring his sight. "You stupid old codfish!" he choked out. "You tricked me!"

Something faint smirk twitched at the corner of the pirate's mouth, as the man was almost embarrassed. "Don't tell me that those tears are for me."

A snort escaped Peter, while he retorted with a watery voice, "Tears? for you? It's only this smelly volcano that's making my eyes sting." They both knew that it was a lie. Hook blinked up into the tear-stained face of the boy and felt an unusual wave of tenderness for the youth.

Then he was distracted by the agony that suddenly came home. He took a deep shuddering breath, releasing Peter. Every inch of his body hurt and there was a horrible burning on his chest. His head felt as if it would explode and his limbs seemed to weigh a ton. He moistened his lips and asked hoarsely: "What happened?"

Peter swept a hand across his eyes, obliterating the tears. "You crept from behind S'Hadh. I remembered this scene I had in my nightmare, and you attacked him. But he … he sent this … this spell in your direction and …" Peter took a deep breath. "I only heard your scream, and…" He rubbed his nose.

Hook frowned. "I recalled what you'd said and leaped away as S'Hadh turned around," he murmured.

Their eyes met and the boy lowered his gaze, dashing new tears away; clearly having reached his limit. "I … I thought you dead and … there was _Celeb-Valar_ and … and …" Another sob stifled his ability to speak, the events of the last hours crashing down on him.

"You killed him," the buccaneer stated quietly and saw the boy nodding.

"I … I was so mad and … and …" Peter's words stumbled to a halt, and he felt the man's hand touching his shoulder.

"Because you thought he'd killed me?"

Again the boy nodded, biting his lips. "I … I didn't want you to die. I still don't," he admitted.

That smirk returned to the face of the captain. "That's nice, for a change."

Peter's chuckle was interrupted by hitching from his sobs. Another deep rumble rose through the air and the volcano shook. A few stones rolled down from above. Startled, Peter glanced about and tried to pull the pirate to his feet. "Come on! I think this mountain has the hiccups, and we're too close to its gullet!"

Hook shook his head, taking the boy's wrist again. "No, Peter, I can't."

He blinked uncomprehending. "What do you mean with 'I can't'?"

The buccaneer closed his eyes a moment before he said quietly: "I am not able to climb out of this crater and then down the mountain. I … I'm used up."

Peter stared at him and laughed uncertainly. "Good one, Hook, but I'm not going to fall for it. Come on! We really have to go!" He rose and looked up at the new barrier, "And we have to climb." He glanced back and saw with rising dread that the pirate-captain hadn't moved. "Hook, come on! This joke isn't funny!"

Strange to hear something like that from you, of all people, Peter," the buccaneer answered quietly, but his eyes looked almost affectionately at the boy. He took a deep breath and added, "Go, Peter. You look like hell, yes, but we both know how stubborn you are. You'll make it down to the others."

The boy shook his head; his eyes widening. This wasn't a bad joke–the wizard's bolt had grazed him, but also drained off all strength left in him. He was simply too exhausted to even rise. Peter swallowed. "I won't go without you!"

Hook made a face. Sweet Lord, even those tiny movements hurt! "Be reasonable for once, boy. I can't even move, and certainly can't go rock climbing. Go, Peter. Go and find the others. I'm certain that in several days you'll be your cocky nervy self once again."

Stubbornly Peter pressed his lips shut, before he said firmly: "If you stay, I stay! And don't bother talking me out of it!" he snapped, as the buccaneer opened his mouth.

Anger shone red in the pirate-captain's eyes. "Curse it all, Pan, get your bloody arse off this cursed mountain, before it's too late!" Again the boy shook his head, and Hook almost exploded: "Would you force her to mourn BOTH of us?" He laid his head back, moaned, rubbing his brow; the outburst had intensified his headache.

Peter rubbed another tear away. "Why do you think Wendy would mourn for you?" he asked hoarsely, already knowing the answer. Of course Wendy would mourn Hook's death; she'd probably even cry. He didn't understand why the girl cared for the buccaneer so much, but it was a fact he wouldn't deny.

Hook tried to laugh; but it came out as a grimace. "We both know she will." And this thought hurt him. He didn't want her to cry. Wendy … his beautiful little storyteller, the sweet kitten with the claws and the dove-blue large eyes and the shining smile who had come to his rescue, despite all dangers … And there was the eternal boy, the curse of his existence since his ship had been washed to those forsaken shores an eternity ago. The very same boy who now wept for him and wouldn't leave him. Hook couldn't hate him any longer; he knew that. Maybe that all consuming hatred had left him. They both had lost their loathing for each other during this adventure, and found a kind of acceptance and comradeship – something he hadn't even wasted a thought of only a week ago. And he knew that he wanted the boy to live!

"Go, Peter. Go and tell Smee--"

"Tell him yourself!" the boy shot back and sat down beside him, pulling his knees at his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "I'm not leaving you, James Hook! So if you want me to live through this, then you'd better weigh anchor!"

Frustration burst out of the pirate-captain, and he rolled onto his elbow, facing the scowling child. "You damn, blasted, stupid, bloody--" He stopped as light suddenly shone in his eyes; blinding him. He gasped and glanced up. "Peter, look!"

The boy followed his gaze, and his heart leaped as he saw the clouds shredding. Warm golden sunlight poured down on him and the man beside him; bathing them in its brightness. The clouds, no longer heavy, were drifting apart. Azure blue sky winked through them and the winter wind had died to a breeze. The sun shone down on the partly snow-covered Mount of No Return, shimmered on the rocks and stones. From far away the panic-stricken screeches of the last surviving harpies reached them, as their feathers were set afire in the light of their greatest enemy: the sun. The darkness was broken, and the sight of blue skies made their hearts soar.

"We did it," Hook whispered and a real smile reached his face before he closed his tired eyes. "So, Peter Pan, this is all your doing!" he murmured quietly.

The boy grinned proudly. "Aye, James Hook, this is all my doing," he replied, remembering the last time they had exchanged those words. Then they had been true, but not this time. He smiled at the buccaneer, and took the man's hand in his. "Not really, not all my doing. It was your crazy, suicidal attack on the wickedest wizard the world has ever seen that gave us this victory."

Hook shook slowly his head. "No! It was you who finally killed him."

"With your sword."

"Not mine. I lost it somewhere inside this mountain."

"We'll find it!" Peter comforted him, and earned a chuckle.

"Keep it, boy. Maybe you'll remember me from time to time – in spite of your forgetfulness."

"Stop it, Hook!" Peter said sharply. "I don't have to be reminded of you, because you'll do it day by day by hunting me again."

Hook sighed irritated. "Pan, can't you grasp facts? Even you can't be that dense! I … CANNOT … CLIMB … DOWN … THIS … MOUNTAIN!" Anger shone in his blue eyes as he panted between each word.

Peter's own eyes shot daggers at him. "No, YOU don't get it! I … WILL NOT … LEAVE … YOU!"

They glared at each other--two pairs of very different angry blue eyes fought a silent battle, but were interrupted as the volcano gave another heave, and another different light appeared in their range of view. Peter's head spun toward the crater and he gasped. There, across the ground crept a glowing mass – slowly, steadily, beautiful in its own way and absolutely deadly.

"The lava!" the boy shouted. "It's coming!"

Hook shifted with some effort until he could see over his shoulder toward the crater. The boy was right – here it came – his death. "Run, Peter! Quickly!" he urged. "Leave NOW!"

Peter felt the dread awakening again, but not for him, but for the man at his side. "If you truly don't want me to die, Hook, then you'd better get up and come with me!"

Hook found enough strength to loose a whole tirade of savage curses, before he spat: "If you don't get up and run, you blasted brat, then I'll gut you from your ugly belly to your dirty throat! Be certain of it!"

Peter glanced at the pirate, again leaning on his left elbow – and he got an idea. "Just try it, old man! You're far too slow for me!"

With that he shifted out of the hook's reach and waited. And Hook reacted exactly as he thought the pirate would: he rose to a sitting position, wincing in pain. "If you think I'm going to fall for that trick, Pan, than you're thicker than I thought!" he growled, and Peter only smirked.

"What trick, codfish? If we have to die now, then I'll do it showing you that I was always faster than you!" The heat grew, but still the boy lingered near the pirate-captain. Peter hadn't lied when he had said he would only leave the coming hell with him. He would do just that! He owed Hook too much to leave him behind. 'You'll die alone and unloved – just like me.' He remembered those words, and when he saw how upset the pirate was now, he decided to skip his plan to force Hook to move. If they had to die, then he wanted it to happen in peace. His face softened as he gently said: "You will not die alone, James Hook. And certainly not unloved. We both know that Wendy really cares for you … and so do I."

His voice was nearly a whisper at the end, but the words seemed to echo in Hook. He felt tears rising and a lump in his throat as he met the boy's gaze, who crept nearer again.

"I'll stay at your side, James, no matter what!"

For a moment Hook was torn between the urge to slice the boy's throat or to pull him close. And the part that had awakened at his meeting with Wendy again before this all started overpowered the wickedness in him once more.

Peter gasped, finding himself in a weak embrace, but gave in and wearily wrapped his arms around the buccaneer, enjoying the hug.

The moment was brief, because Hook shifted now and whispered: "Help me up, you stubborn churl!"

With a happy sigh, Peter lifted his head and looked at the man he had somehow grown–almost–fond of. "I knew it!"

"You know nothing, you little fool!" Hook snarled while he tried to rise. Peter helped as best as he could. "I choose to not let her suffer because of your damn emptyheaded stubbornness. And I won't have you dying the hero's death, to be put on a pedestal and sung about!" He cried out in pain, as he forced his legs to carry him. The wound in his side from the harpy's talons wasn't the only thing that hurt--his whole body hurt like hell. He thought he could feel every single bone.

The boy laughed, supporting the buccaneer with an arm around his waist, and pulling the man's left arm around his shoulders. Behind them the lava came nearer. "Stop jabbering, old man, and WALK!"

"Stop calling me that! I'm not that old!"

"Sorry, codfish!"

"Shut up, brat!"

They both grinned as they made their way ahead of the lava toward the avalanche. Again the mountain shuddered, and the allies had to fight to stay on their feet. Hook gasped. Every step demanded strength from him he didn't have. His legs ached, his back felt as if it would break any moment and his chest burned. And then there was this heap of stone in front of them. Again! "I really hate piles of stone," he said, his voice rasping, and Peter nodded.

"Aye! Agreed!"

"Peter? Captain?" Thalion's voice sounded distant, coming from the other side of the fall of rock, and they exchanged a glance.

"Thalion! Are you and the others are all right?" the boy called.

"Yes. We escaped the avalanche. Try to climb over it! The volcano is going--"

"--to vomit a bit; yes, we know." Peter shouted back. "I don't think it liked the taste of that wizard."

Hook shook his head. "You speak of this mountain like the Firebolgs."

Peter smiled briefly. "Hey: tell me where you are, and I'll tell you what you are."

The captain stared at him; glad for the boy's inept attempts at distraction. As long as he could quarrel with him – even in this teasing manner – he wouldn't consider the pain so much. "Don't tell me that you have learned this speech from your fairy." He glanced around. "By the way, where is that jealous little insect on two legs?"

"May we should look for her later and start to climb?" Peter suggested and pointed backwards. "Because it is getting really hot here!"

Hook sighed and progressed to the bottom of the avalanche. "You love to boss me around, don't you?"

Peter chuckled. "Well … YES!"

At that moment, another quake shook the mountain; making the ground beneath them buck like a new lamb. But the character of the shaking was altogether different, and the mountain seemed to finally give up, and fall to pieces. The lava halted as the crater descended, deadly flow returning to the source. But the repeated vibrations of the past week, weakening the structure of the whole, finally split the incline below the spot they stood from the rest of the mountain, and it fell away, creating a new, smaller mountain far below.

This time they both lost their balance and slid backward toward the new cliff. Loose grit rolled beneath them and pushed them along. Both yelped as they saw the abyss grow nearer, and Peter managed to roll aside and stop. But the pirate still slid past him. Acting instinctively, Peter gripped Hook's hand and held it tight. A strong jerk seemed to tear him apart, as he held onto a rock outcropping with the other hand, the heavy weight of the pirate dragging at him, as Hook rolled with a scream over the edge that just appeared, as if the island were hungry for the taste of pirate.

The boy moaned and he ground his teeth as his right shoulder dislocated at the joint and a whole new kind of pain ran through him. But he wouldn't let go of Hook's hand. Through tears he saw the pirate's face, ashen in panic, while his hook clawed for purchase on the crumbling edge, but it slipped off again, and he cried out in fear, glancing down.

Deep beneath him, Hook could see the glistening, melting treetops; bathed in the shining golden sun. And far away, could see Pirate's Cove and … his ship. The _Jolly Roger_ lay there; waiting for her commander to return. Still captured by the ice, he knew that, since the spell was broken, she would soon be free. The sight of her gave him peace, and only the hope that a sweet little girl waited there to show him his damaged cabin beat in his heart. He could feel Peter's grip slipping, and took a deep breath; giving up for the first time in his life. Forgive me, little one! he thought, and thank you for caring!

Peter held onto Hook's hand for dear life. But the pain in his shoulder, neck and back was excruciating. Sobbing, he tried to pull the man back, which was, of course, useless. He was only a boy trying to hold on to a grown man. And strong as he was, even Peter Pan had his limits. He felt Hook's fingers slipping through his, his own grip on the rock weakening. Their eyes met and Hook saw the agony the boy was in. "Let go, Peter," he whispered. "Let go, before I take you with me."

But the Prince of Neverland shook his head. "Never!" he choked out, digging his already bleeding fingers into the stone – and then the rock was pulled from its seat. Peter was pulled over the edge together with the buccaneer; clinging to him. They both cried out, while Peter tried to find a happy thought – something—anything--that might keep both of them in the air, but his exhausted mind was blank. Peter glanced up to the sun; its golden light seemed to embrace him like a father. He thought he could see Tink above him; her ringing jingling in his ears.

_… And he was a baby again, under a bush in Kensington Gardens, swept away by  
a light …_

And then the golden ball surrounded him and Hook, enclosed by hundreds of tiny shimmering wings – warm and comforting, singing and soothing, while he and the man fell down and down and down … until everything went black ...

TBC…

Dear Readers,

so - that was the finale battle. Neverland is save - and there are still many things open. So I hope you don't kill me for again giving you a cliffhanger.

Please review and thank you once again for all those couraging words you have given me until now.

Love you all

Lywhn


	38. Battle Fatigue

Hi there everyone,

sorry that it took a little bit longer but (as already told) my dear friend is very busy in the moment, so she finds a little bit less time to do the beta-reading, and then I was on a exhibition for the company I am working for, so: soooorry.

Up now to chapter 37, two more and an epilogue are up to come soon.

Love you all and please review

Lywhn

**Chapter 37 – Battle Fatigue**

Wendy rubbed her tired eyes and leaned against the rail of the _Jolly Roger_, taking a deep breath of the warming air. A chill breeze blew through her unbound hair, and carried the first sweet scents of Neverland's fresh blooming flowers over the thawing waves. The sun, half hidden behind clouds, tried his best to bring summer back to the magical island, but the island had suffered a lot under the lashing of the wizard's winter, and its wounds would certainly be visible for days to come. The marshes were wetter than ever, and Wendy knew that the Will-o-the-Wisps and Sheeries were delighted with the mist that clung to the mangroves and lianas. The ground had cooled, freezing several inches, and the warm rays of the sun now set thin billows of mist traveling through the swampland and the woods.

Thalion, who had been ashore this morning, told her of the miry soil in the Ancient Forest, and that the verdure was struggling to avoid drowning in all the water that melted into the earth. But Wendy knew this island a little better by now. She knew that it wouldn't be long until Neverland was its blooming, glowing, vibrant self again – a magical pearl in the vast expanse in an ocean not found on any map. Even now she could see the golden darts of light soaring about, which meant that the fairies were busily assisting nature to recover.

The fairies … Without them this whole affair would have ended in disaster.

Wendy looked up to the now peaceful Mount of No Return, which was no more than a sleeping volcano once again. The scar of the split was easily seen from here, but it wouldn't be long before it was covered in flowers, verdure and newborn trees. There, at the western edge of its crater, the battle had taken place, and had almost ended in tragedy. Wendy saw the whole scene before her again – those awful moments she thought she would lose both: Peter, the boy she adored with all her girlish innocence, and Hook, the man she admired as well, but in a completely different way, who awoke such strange feelings in her.

"_Look!" John screamed at her side, on their way back to the ship. He had rushed to her as soon as the unicorn halted in the middle of the allies only moments ago; returning the girl to her friends and family below. Bumblyn, whom she still held tightly to her, whimpered because of the hard ride, but quieted the moment he heard the echo of the boy's cry, gazing up at the new rumbling from the mountain. Wendy, surrounded by the allies who had gathered about to congratulate her, whirled around and followed her brother's pointing finger._

_The dazzling light of the newly emerged sun blinded her for a few seconds. Yes, the winter had ended. But then she saw it – and her breath caught in her throat. There, near the crater toward Pirate's Cove, the mountain was falling away! And as the dust cleared, she saw in the distance two shapes. Far away, the larger hung over the abyss, while the smaller lay above, holding on._

_Too horrified to even scream, Wendy could only watch helplessly as man and boy slid toward destruction. Aurora jingled shrilly, gesturing wildly to the mountain. And the large golden shimmer – the wings of thousands of fairies – flew quick as thought, speeding toward the two._

_And then they both fell. NO!!!!_

_Wendy finally screamed, heart in her throat and fists at her mouth. Before the two had fallen three or four fathoms, the bright cloud enclosed them completely; thousands of tiny hands dusting them, grabbing for hair, torn clothes, leaves and arms; glistening wings held man and boy midair and carried them away – straight to Pirate's Cove._

"_Clever she was, Peter's fairy-friend! Help she got!" Kailen shouted, whirling around Aurora, pulling her close, giving her a long sweet kiss. Too shocked at first to react, the rose-fairy looked cross-eyed at her attacker, then her arms went around him and she clung to his kiss. The other pixies stared at them both – half amused, half amazed, before the air filled with the cheering dancing green miniatures, odd shapeless hats twirling in the air._

_The rest of the allies witnessed the rescue as well. Nihal and Emorlhi grinned, clapping each other on the back, the pirates started to whoop and applaud, and the Indians let out loud ululating cries of victory. The boys almost tumbled each other to the ground with their joyful embraces, while the unicorn whinnied in glee, its horn shining like the sun. Several gnomes dared to leave their hideouts under snow covered trees and to have a closer look at the strange scene outside their doors – cheering and scampering about as they realized that the unnatural dark was over._

_Wendy's knees gave out, and she sat down in the snow, covering her face with her hands and beginning to sob. The last near tragedy was too much for the girl – she felt used up, and her tired soul needed this release, and so the tears ran freely now. Bumblyn, still with her, hopped into her lap as soon as she collapsed, trying to comfort her, but even this little friend couldn't reach her just then._

_A strong arm wrapped around her shoulder. A velvet nose pushed against her temple, but she didn't look up. There was the voice of Billy Jukes trying to comfort her, but again she only could sob helplessly into her hands._

"_Hush, lady. They are safe now. I am certain they are taken to the ship," Nihal whispered soothingly and pushed her hands down._

"_Aye! T'e cap'n and t'e boy are surely lyin' abed e'en as we speak," Smee smiled at her, even if he wasn't so sure. After all, only two pirates had remained aboard._

"_Brave Feather has reason to smile. Little White Eagle and Ironhand are out of danger now," Tiger-Lily, who'd been at John's side the whole time, reassured the girl._

"_Ah, c'm'on, lass, yer so smart! Red-handed Jill don't weep like no girly," Billy Jukes contributed._

_Wendy looked askance at him, smiling through tears, "First, Billy-mate," she retorted in a parody of a pirate, "even Red-handed Jill has her limits; second I am NOT a girly and third…" she looked closer at him and saw how bad off he himself was, "and third you look worse!"_

_The pirates guffawed and slapped Jukes on the back. He shrugged his comrades away. "Hey, a li'l more respect, yer brutes! Who's the best shot wi' Long Tom, eh?"_

"_BILLY JUKES!" roared from almost sixty throats, and even the Indians had to smile._

_Nihal stroked the hair out of Wendy's face, and the unicorn licked tears from her wet cheek. The girl pulled away, while trying not to be rude. "Uh … I know … that I need … a bath, but … really … that … isn't … necessary!"_

_Again laughter rolled across the island, the laughter of relief and the joy of victory, of success being yanked from the mouth of defeat. Bumblyn rolled about with laughter, holding his belly. "Blessed be you beyond blessing to bear kisses from a unicorn."_

"_Aye, lucky you are!" Kailen giggled, still wrapped around Aurora._

"_I … appreciate it … but…" Wendy rolled aside, blinking up to the magical mare, which wore a completely amused expression. "I am NOT a lolly!" she stated, and the unicorn whinnied a laugh._

"_No, but you are a bit salty," the creature answered; satisfied that the girl had ceased crying._

_Suddenly Wendy felt strong hands on her shoulders, and she was lifted back to her feet. Yelping, she turned to a grinning Cecco. "Yer'e worried about t'e cap'n and t'e li'l bilge-rat wit' the fortune of hunert golden childr'n?" he teased roughly. He turned her around and gave her a soft whack on her bottom. "T'en t'ere ye go!"_

_Wendy squeaked, blushing. "Mr. Cecco! I have to ask you to treat me with more respect! After all--"_

"_After all, t'at's the cap'n's privilege!" the giant black pirate interrupted her, grinning as he saw her turning redder._

"_I wouldn't allow Captain Hook to handle me thus!" she stated, and the entire crew within earshot broke into hearty laughter._

"_Lass, he'll do it wit'out askin'!" Mason said._

"'_Specially after 'e sees 'is quarters!" Skylight smirked._

"_Should we make a feather-pad fer yer pretty bottom?" Bollard chuckled._

"_And cotton f' y' ears? He be real loud!" Quang-Lee teased._

_Wendy suddenly remembered, and stared into the direction of Pirate's Cove. "He'll be aboard before I have the chance to do anything about it!" she gasped. "Oh NO!"_

_Mason guffawed. "Aw, no worry, lass. Ya saved his life!"_

"_He got a weak spot fer ye!"_

" '_E'd never harm a lady!"_

"_Aye! It'd be bad form!"_

"_Could be 'e's unconscious!"_

"_Aye, then ye'd 'ave a chance to put 'is quarters in order"_

"_We'll help, as promised!"_

_John's eyes darted back and forth between the pirates and his sister, then exchanged a dumbfounded gaze with the chief's daughter. How on Earth had Wendy managed to tame the whole murderous crew? Even getting them on her side? Shaking his head, he followed the troop that started purposefully back to Pirate's Cove; knowing that Thalion, his Elves and the remaining Indian warriors under the lead of Chief Rain-in-the-Face would follow them as soon as they got out of what was left the mountain._

Wendy's thoughts were brought back to the present as Bumblyn climbed beside her on the rail, looking toward the island. The ship bobbed gently in the water that melted about it, leaving the _Jolly Roger_ in a broad pool like dark glass. "Considerable cutting and cleaning and correcting before the Dark One's dreadful deeds are done away," he said and sat down gently – and moaned. "That horse! I am a Hobgoblin, not a Leprechaun!"

"Leprechauns are a sort of bogy, too, aren't they?" she asked, and Bumblyn nodded. "So why could one ride better than you?"

The Hobgoblin stared at her, then snorted. "Indeed they do almost daily – but mostly on large lumbering lambs. But more importantly: they have no tail!" He pointed at his rump and squeaked, "I'm not built for bobbing about on an beast's back!"

The girl smiled compassionately and touched his cheek with her finger. "I am sorry, Bumblyn. But why did you come with me if it's so hard for you to ride? Your debt is paid."

The Hobgoblin stared into the melting ice below them, his face a study in concentration. He finally murmured something in his throaty, convoluted language and Wendy cocked her head. "Again please?" she asked gently.

"I find you a fine friend," Bumblyn grumbled. "Little'uns 'r' no likely to care fer larger ones than himself, but you, lady…" he sighed, "y' helped us unselfish an' y' have a good heart. Y' dinna make no difference from which folk someone hails from. The only thing that matters for you is heart." He shrugged. "And so, well… _janiclawinkarolsnawkejianiralkaskentalri_, I care not that yer a big'un and – worst of all – a human." He rose, dangerously near the edge of the rail, before he turned toward her. "Fair lady of sweet fortune, you are my friend, forever!" he declared solemnly, looking up at her with large eyes.

Wendy felt that warmth tugging her again. Here she stood, aboard of her favorite pirate-ship, having survived an adventure nearly beyond telling, faced a magical island in the throes of a glorious recovery, having ridden and been 'kissed' by a unicorn – and now this precious sprite declared that she would be his friend forever. Feeling tears prickling her eyes – again (over the last two days she seemed to have spilled a lot of water) – she bent down and placed a gentle kiss on the cheek of her little friend.

Bumblyn straightened, stiff as a poker, his ears and tail pointing skyward; then his face turned several shades of red and he leapt up as high as her head; cheering in joy. Wendy laughed as she watched him – until it dawned to her where the accident-prone Hobgoblin was dancing about, and stretched out her hands to him to snatch him away from the narrow rail -- but too late! For one second she saw his startled face, his ears curling forward in shock – then he vanished with a cry toward the water.

"Man overboard!" Wendy screamed and whirled around toward several startled pirates. "Where is the float?"

"T'e what?" Mason asked inanely.

"You are on a pirate ship, _Senorita_. Pirates rarely have use for a life preserver," a heavily accented voice said beside her.

Wendy jumped with a yelp and looked down on a crabby Klabautermann, who had emerged with a 'pop'. The nyxx stared at the buccaneers, who didn't dare to move a muscle, watching the little man with some alarm at his appearance. Esteban rolled his eyes – "Why me?" he growled – handed Wendy his pipe, hammer and hat with the words "Don't you dare to lose these, _chica_," climbed on the rail and dove into the sea after the Hobgoblin.

"Senior Esteban!" Wendy called, watching him disappear into the icy water; the rest of the pirates on deck coming beside her. Here, too, came Slightly, Nibs, Michael and a limping Curly.

"He's left t'e ship!" Mullins gasped; terrified.

"He's jus' tryin' t' save t'e li'l troublemaker, t'at's all!" Alf Mason said scornfully to his superstitious comrade.

"Klabautermanns do t'at sorta t'ing from time to time!" Cecco nodded.

"An' 'ow would YOU know t'at? Y' said y' didn't believe such stuff!"

Mullins snapped, and Cecco rolled his eyes.

"Because it's t'e only way to protect m'self against yer nonsensical gabblin'!"

Wendy ignored the argument, peering down into the waves where her little friend had vanished. Then, suddenly, two heads broke the surface, spitting and coughing. Esteban held Bumblyn to his side and supported him, while the Hobgoblin paddled with all fours toward the Jacob's ladder, cursing endless  
bogy-curses. "Swing open the rail and help them aboard!" Wendy shouted, while she rushed toward the Jacobs-Ladder. "Billy? Fetch blankets!" When she heard no movement, she turned around and stared in eight very perplexed pirate-faces and at four gaping boys. Impatiently Wendy clapped her hands. "Wakey, wakey! Esteban and Bumblyn need our help!"

"But…" stuttered Mullins. " 'E … 'e's t'e ship's Klabautermann! Wot 'elp could 'e need?"

"So?" the girl snapped. She suddenly remembered how Hook spoke toward the crew when they didn't seem to listen. "MOVE, ya scurvy brutes!" To her surprise, Mason and Cecco started, then ran to the rail to access the Jacobs-Ladder, while Jukes ran to the companionway, hollering about "blankets." Well, that went better than expected!

Again the boys could only stare at the girl.

Panting, Bumblyn emerged on deck, dripping. From behind, a grumpy Esteban also emerged, growling in Spanish and something about landlubbers. Wendy knelt by her friend. "Bumblyn, are you all right?"

The Hobgoblin sneezed, tail dripping and shivering, and wrapped his arms and tail around his small self. His teeth clattered, as he only said: "C…c…cold!" Immediately Wendy removed the doublet she still wore and wrapped the large leather garment around her little friend, who glanced at her with an unhappy expression. "I lost m' hat," he sniffed.

Esteban crawled up beside them, shaking salt drops from his hair and swearing curses Wendy had never heard before. "Language, Senior Esteban! I do thank you for your help with Bumblyn, but please moderate your tongue!" The Klabautermann paused to at her, while the men milling about them paused, holding their breath.

The nyxx lifted a brow – and started to laugh: "_Chica_, I'm the Klabautermann of a pirate vessel. Language is what we use! But you have courage -- no wonder that Blue-Eyes has such a soft spot for you!"

Wendy pinked. "You've such an imagination, Senor Esteban!"

"And you are naïve, girl!" he grinned, and stretched out his rough hand. "My pipe, hat, and hammer, _por favor_!" Wendy bobbed her head toward Skylight, who held out the items to the ship's guardian as if they were porcelain eggs. Grinning, Esteban took them and then clapped a hand on Bumblyn's shivering back. "Come on, landlubber! Let's find some grog and then a nice long nap!" He glanced at Wendy. "_Bella senorita_, you should take a _siesta_, too! You're too white–even for an English rose!" He bowed in front of the blushing girl, took the surprised Hobgoblin by one arm and pulled him toward the companionway. He bowed to a tall figure in the shadow before vanishing the under deck; already chattering in the strange tongue all bogeys seemed to understand.

Wendy followed them with her eyes, these two who were invisible to the rest of the world, but normal inhabitants here in Neverland. Then she saw the slender figure in the shadow of the mizzen-mast, and smiled widely as the woman drew nearer. The pirates instantly made room for her, even pulled their hats off, tugging at their forelocks – a courtesy rarely seen from the rough buccaneers.

The woman nodded gently at them, asked Cecco how his injured arm was doing and moved to the children; her moss-green eyes directed toward Wendy. "I think your kiss was shocking," she teased gently and laughed as the girl's cheeks warmed again.

Wendy looked up. The daylight, veiled because of Peter's condition, bathed the woman in a soft light and amusing itself in her knee-length silver-white hair. Once again, Wendy was amazed by the beauty of her race. Even the pirates seemed too stunned, too respectful around her, and held their loose tongues.

Glawar, Giliath's twin, had arrived several hours after Wendy and the rest of them reached the Jolly Roger. It was late evening when Thalion and the others signaled from shore that they needed to be picked-up. The ice on the sea had thinned, now too dangerous to walk on, separating into floes. With great caution, several pirates had rowed a longboat to shore, taking aboard the remaining Elves along with a newcomer, wrapped in a long cape. Smee, the senior-officer, had accompanied his comrades and been suspicious at first. But as the stranger revealed her profile, and the old Irishman beheld the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, he said nothing more as they boarded the _Jolly Roger_.

Landward, Chief Rain-in-the-Face met the men in his tribe, and all were on their way toward winter camp. Sadly, John and Tiger-Lily said good-bye, but the Indian girl promised to return as soon as the island grew warmer, so that she could teach him how to swim.

And so the _Jolly Roger_ was host to a real lady, one possessing nearly the same healing-virtue as her brother, and who had been following their progress. After she ministered to Giliath, enabling him to begin to heal, she'd cared for the other injured–mainly Peter and Hook. Both were a mess, and hadn't regained consciousness since they were rescued by the fairies.

Together with Wendy, Thalion, Nihal, the ship's surgeon, and two others who were assisting, they patched up the two and all the rest of the fighters. Glawar had come aboard yesterday evening, and neither she nor Wendy nor the rest on medical duty had rested yet. The woman wasn't affected, but the girl showed the signs of exhaustion for the first time since she came back aboard.

Wendy rose, nodded to the pirates and walked slowly with Glawar toward the bow, while the boys bunked with the buccaneers, chattering back and forth with them as if they'd done it forever. Jukes appeared carrying two blankets, and upon discovering that the two sprites had already disappeared below, he spread the blankets on deck near the cannons for himself and his comrades.

Wendy and Glawar progressed toward the bow, where a kind of makeshift-camp was set up under the deck for the injured. (Normally quarters were rarely placed near the bow, because a ship is rarely still at that end, but there was enough room now for all the guests and wounded.) The grid-hatches were  
open to allow fresh air to circulate under deck, and now, in the late afternoon, voices could be heard from below. Most of the injured had awoken during the day, but several of them were not well enough to get up. But talking was something a pirate could always do, and they heard many voices. Those who were worse off were aft, where it would be more comfortable for them. Along with them, Peter and Giliath.

Wendy glanced a Glawar and smiled again. Her silver-white hair floated in the soft wind; the long sleeves of her light-green dress wafted behind her, and her lightly shod feet seemed not to touch the boards. A graceful hand stroked a strand behind her subtly pointed ear. She turned her moss-green-eyes–the same as her brother's–toward the sea. An old yearning pulled at her face before she sighed, directing her attention toward the bow where several Elves stood talking quietly.

"They all look toward the open sea," Wendy murmured. "Why is that? Have you no oceans in your world?"

Glawar gave a little laugh, sounding much like the crystal bell in Aunt Millicent's sitting room. "Oh no, we have oceans, but they are far from the woods and valleys where we live. The sea is quite dear to us – something very special."

The girl nodded. "I know what you mean. I remember how I was captivated by my first sight of the vastness of the sea. That might be why I love ships so much – and … well … have a soft spot -- for them!" She pointed backwards with her thumb toward the buccaneers.

Glawar smiled with Elvish piquancy. "Yes, the view is impressive. But the sea has a different meaning to us. It is … how can I say it? We Elves do not age, but when we are tired and have lived too long, then we travel over the sea on our last journey." She leaned against the railing above the bow and the figurehead. "Sometimes the open sea is a strong temptation to us."

Wendy leaned over the rail beside her; thinking. "But to be forever young is something all humans wish. How can your long life be tiring?" she asked, enjoying Glawar's long fingers combing her soft hair. Wendy knew it needed to be washed, for neither she nor the others had found time to bathe, settling for washing her hands and face.

"For other mortals it sounds tempting, yes. But just think of it: humans grow old and die, while Elves stay forever young. Do you know how many human friends I've had and lost them all, watching them faltering and fading away?"

She saw the beginning understanding in the girl eyes – before she suddenly yawned widely. A soft pink crept in her cheeks, murmuring, "Sorry."

The lady smiled. "Time for bed, I think."

Wendy shook her head. "No. Peter hasn't regained consciousness yet, and I promised Michael and Twins I'd—"

Glawar gently laid one finger on her lips. "Hush, child. You could sleep where you stand. You've helped so many since you got here yesterday. You haven't even slept for the past two nights, and the last week was most difficult–and you are not Elf, but human," she glanced down at Wendy's clothes, "even though the differences are minimal."

The girl grinned, yawning again. "Well … those leggings are comfortable, but," she sighed, "I am so looking forward to the summer-dress I brought with me." She bit her lower lip. "Maybe I can use Hook's little room again to clean up and … and he'd loan me another shirt until my clothes are dry." She rubbed her eyes and looked toward the castle aft – Hook's cabin. "What if he wakes up and sees his quarters? But then, we did straighten it a bit – and even if we couldn't do much, it shouldn't matter. Not after I saved him. But then, he IS Captain Hook and his temper is usually short. Do you know if—"

This time Glawar placed her entire hand over the girl's mouth to stop her rambling, seeing it was only Wendy's exhaustion speaking. "Go to sleep, Wendy girl. Should Peter awaken, I will certainly tell him that you are alright. Any moment now I will be carrying YOU to bed."

The girl smiled sheepishly, sighing as she realized that Glawar was right. Her limbs felt as if made of iron. "That bad, huh?" she murmured and clenched her teeth over another yawn.

The woman chuckled. "Yes."

Feeling weariness overwhelm her, Wendy understood Glawar was indeed right. And the prospect of a comfortable bed was pure heaven. "One more look in on Peter before I go to bed," she said softly, and Glawar nodded. "Good night," Wendy told her quietly, and walked aft.

The lady watched her. It was time that girl rested. Every step looked as though it were an effort, and she knew that she wouldn't see the human child again before tomorrow – enough time to get her little surprise ready.

Wendy looked upon the sleeping Peter. He lay in a small cabin, the porthole swung wide to let in the fresh air, and the bed was freshly made, wider than he needed. He looked pale, feverish and frighteningly helpless. Clean bandages covered him, and those parts not bandaged were bruised and scratched. His left hand was bound up, his right arm fixed at his torso to allow the shoulder to recover, and his right leg (where S'Hadh's bolt had hit him) was firmly wrapped with a generous slathering of Elfish ointment.

How could someone do that to a child? And try to drop him into a live volcano?? Yes, Peter was a threat, but he was also a child. She sighed. She doubted that Hook would have hurt or tormented him like this, even when mortal enemies. The pirate-captain would have killed him without mercy then, but somehow, deep in her heart, she knew that the buccaneer would have done it quickly, which was – after all – a mercy in its own way.

Wendy sighed and sat down on the bed next to the sleeping boy. His breathing was steadier than yesterday, when Wendy saw him in the early afternoon again after she and the others reached the ship. Then, his breathing had been labored, and she had been half out of her mind when she saw the torn, bleeding and bruised boy – her hero. The two pirates who had remained aboard carried him to this cabin and bandaged the worst wounds. But the best help had been Nihal, who had replaced Peter's dislocated shoulder and used the ointment, and later cared for Hook and the others.

Wendy wrung out the cloth in the bowl on the washstand, and wiped Peter's face. She knew --from the time she had the fever last winter -- how marvelous a cool cloth felt on heated skin, wiping the sweat away.

The boy groaned in his sleep, but didn't wake. But his innocent features relaxed until something like a faint smile came to his lips. The girl sighed and her eyes met Tink's, who lay beside the boy on the pillow – tired and still dirty. The little fairy smiled at her, waved briefly before turning away, ready to fall asleep again.

Wendy didn't mind. Tinker Bell had flown faster and further than ever before in her life, summoning her folk to their aid. She had spent days beneath Neverland, providing vital services to the allies. "Good night, Tink," Wendy whispered to the fairy, bowing low and brushing a gentle kiss to Peter's forehead. "Sleep well, Peter!" she murmured and left.

Outside she almost collided with Smee, who looked as worn out she felt. "Not yet in t'e feat'ers, li'l miss?" he asked kindly. After the girl had risked her own life to save his captain, every bit of animosity had disappeared in the Irishman.

Wendy glanced into his reddened eyes. No wonder the man was worn out. He hadn't slept either, but assisted his comrades and the Elves wherever he could. And he was, as he might say, not a spring goat anymore. "I will – after a proper wash." She bit her lips. "Mr. Smee, may I ask you a favor?" The boatswain nodded. "Is … is there somewhere I could have … a decent bath?" her voice sank to a whisper, and she looked around, hoping none other than the Irishman had heard her. After all, she was a young lady and it completely indecent to speak about something as private like a bath in public.

Smee's eyes narrowed in a laugh as he took in her appearance. Then he started chuckle, rubbing his beard. "Och, aye, y' could use one." He smirked again as she blushed. While she smiled shyly; her tired eyes shone for a moment like two bright stars. Pirate, yes, graybeard, yes, but he could see why his captain was so fond of this girl. She was the perfect mixture of innocence, vitality and beauty that a man could grow weak for. "Come on, I'm sure t'e capt'n'd not object if y' used 'is tub again."

Wendy bit her lips. "Is … is he still asleep?"

The loyal Irishman made a sad, worried face. "Aye – since yesterday. Quite unusual. Normally 'e's one of t'e first t' rise in t'e morning." He went toward the companionway, Wendy at his side. They passed the galley and the old Irishman winked at her, before he opened the door and peeked into the kitchen; grinning when he saw a tipsy Cookson and heard two careless voices in the storeroom, clearly the two sprites.

"Cooky?" The ship's cook scowled at him, but Smee ignored him. "Heat two big buckets o' water 'n' it bring it along wit' s'm buckets o' cold water to t'e cap'n's quarters. But as silent as possible, awri'?"

Grumbling, Cookson started to fill the large metal pot. "Fin'ly awake?"

"Nah! The water's fer t'e young lady." Cookson stared at him as the rum-rusted cogs started turning, and he remembered the two females aboard, and decided that Smee was referring to Wendy and growled something nasty. "Ten minutes, Cookson!" Smee said with an edge in his voice, and closed the door. "T'at silly spoon-swinger 'as bats in 'is belfry."

Wendy giggled, swallowed another yawn, and followed him up the companionway. A minute later, Smee led her into Hook's cabin, and Wendy's smile disappeared when she saw the condition of the luxurious room.

Smee had gathered papers, documents and maps, stacking them neatly on the table with a large book on top to as a paperweight. The chairs and the globe stood again in their usual places, only the desk was missing. Wendy knew that Mullins was working on it to repair the broken leg. The carpets were missing as well, because others of the crew took them to the island that morning, soaking out the blood in the snow. They now hung above the quarterdeck on the poop deck for drying. The broken bits had been cleaned up, but the broken door of the cabinet seemed to accuse her. "Thank you for cleaning up what you could," Wendy whispered and met the amused gaze of the Irishman.

"Well, we don't need t'e capt'n flyin' off t'e handle, do we?" He shook his grey head again. "Really, lass, t'at must 'a' been a pretty wild fight – seeing what-all 'uz broken." Smee vanished into the water closet.

Sighing, the girl waited, looking about. Yes, there was still a lot to do, but the worst was gone. Despite this, she knew that Hook would be upset when he woke. Her eyes slid to the large bed with the shell-shaped headboard, where a tall figure lay under the blanket. Feeling uneasiness awaking in her, she tiptoed to the bed and looked down on the man who'd been lying motionless like this for more than a day. He was still pale with a high color on his cheeks – typical for fever. Like Peter, his torso and his right arm were bandaged, and the rest of him showed many bruises. His beard was full, and his gnarled curly mane was spread over the pillow. He lay quietly, his broad chest rising and falling evenly. Wendy took this opportunity to lean in close, and examine him privately.

His exotic dark lashes lay over the dark shadows beneath his eyes. Tiny beads of sweat stood out on his high forehead, and Wendy felt an almost motherly urge to dab his face. She didn't want to see him suffering, and she knew from experience how awful a fever could be. She was amazed that such a powerful man could look so … vulnerable, so weak. She felt as if she must protect him – somehow – and she didn't know why.

On the stand beside the bed was a bowl with water and a cloth, and using it, she gently wiped the sweat from his face. Like Peter, a low moan escaped him, as in his sleep he enjoyed the cool soft cloth, then he was silent again. Wendy smiled. Sweet Lord, even with his beard and the manly body, he reminded her that moment more of a boy than a man.

"He'll make it," Smee whispered beside her, making her start. She'd been so fixed on the pirate-captain that she hadn't heard the Irishman coming. "You'll see, t'morra he'll scold and growl to get everyone back t' work, even t'ough t'ere's no much t' do now!" He left the cabin to see about the things for her bath.

Wendy smiled. How odd that someone (surely a murderous, cold-blooded cutthroat) could show so much care and compassion for another. Wendy knew that Smee served the captain for a very long time, but still the brooding hen quality of the man amused and bemused her, mingled with another, softer feeling.

With a sigh, she stood, and set about straightening the parts of the room she was able to affect. Books, bottles, candles were set aright before Smee returned, bearing an armload of toiletries. "C'mon, li'l lady, your tub'll soon be ready!"

As if on cue, Cookson opened the door to the cabin, and several men carried buckets into the quarters as quietly as possible – barefoot -- throwing nervous glances in the direction of their sleeping captain. It wasn't long before the tub was almost full. They vanished again, grinning at her, and then Smee bowed teasingly. "Yer bath, milady!" he pointed toward the little room, then followed his comrades out on deck. Before he closed the door he whispered: "An' be quiet! 'E's most grumpy upon waking."

Wendy giggled. "I know. Thank you, Mr. Smee, and – if you allow me to say this – try to get some sleep yourself."

The boson nodded, "Aye aye, Miss!" as he closed the door behind him.

Finally alone, the girl walked quietly to the carved armoire, which had miraculously escaped damage, took a deep breath, opened it, and pulled out one of Hook's shirts. She would need it after bathing, and she hoped he wouldn't mind. A minute later she sank into the tub, sighing in pleasure as the warm water closed around her tired body. It was Heaven and she felt the ache slowly leave her limbs.

For almost five minutes, she soaked in the warm bath, splashing her face and hair. It was almost too good to be true. She could have soaked like this forever, but as room seemed to suddenly come back into focus, she knew that she almost fell asleep in the tub, and this was a risky thing, the captain only a few steps away. Sighing, she took the soap from the bench beside her – it smelled like herbs, so different from the soaps she normally used – and washed her hair and herself many times. And with every layer of adventure rubbed away, another worry or trace of the long dark days disappeared as well.

Bone-dulling fatigue was finally spreading through her mind again, stronger than before. The water calmed and soothed her soul enough to allow her to rest. She felt as if someone had opened a hole in her foot, and all her energy had run out. Now barely able to move, she rose, wrapped a generous towel about herself and set down on the tub's edge, using it on her hair. Her movements were slow; betraying the exhaustion that was beginning to overpower her.

Her eyes fell on her dirty clothes, and sighing, she picked them up and threw them into the bathtub. It wasn't the best solution, but didn't matter at the moment. Letting them soak, she looked around and took one of the combs. She plucked several long black hairs out of it and started to bring some order to the mess that was her own hair. It was not easy, for it had been days since she'd brushed, and now her arms hurt, being as tired as they were. After several minutes, with most of the knots combed out, she cleaned the comb, put it back, threw a glance into the tub, pulled on Hook's new shirt, rolled the sleeves up and left the room. She knew that the clothes could soak until there was a chance to wash them properly. Her bare feet made no noise on the bare wooden floor, and yawning, she looked around. She would have to wait several minutes more until she could wash the clothes. Perhaps one of the books could distract her from her falling eyelids.

As she read the titles, she fought to keep her eyes open. The peace and silence of the cabin was getting the better of her and…

And a deep sigh from the bed attracted her attention before she fell asleep at the bookshelf. She turned around – nearly tripping over her feet – and looked to the pirate-captain who was shifting. Hoping that he would finally awake from the death-like sleep, she tiptoed over to him.

He moved again, licked his lips, lashes starting to flutter. A second later, the girl was looking into the still glassy and reddened blue depths again, the ones she'd often thought she would never see again. "Hello, Captain," she greeted him quietly, and smiled as she watched him sorting out his thoughts. Finally his confused expression changed into recognition.

"Wendy?" he whispered and looked at her as if she were a ghost. "How … Where … What happened?" His rasping voice betrayed how tired he still was.

"You and Peter fell from the cliff, but the fairies caught you and brought you two to the _Jolly Roger_." She ducked her head a bit. "We were all very worried about you both."

"The fairies?" he murmured and closed his eyes, trying very hard to remember something, but a fierce headache started, and so he let it be. He tried to move again, and moaned as sharp pain bit at his right side, shoulder and chest.

A curse escaped him, but this time Wendy didn't mind. She knew that he was still in a lot of pain. "Would you like some water?" she asked; remembering how thirsty the fever made her last winter.

Hook turned his head carefully toward the nightstand, where a pitcher pf fresh water stood, and the sight of it was enough waken the hellish thirst in his sand-dry mouth. "Yes, please!" he rasped, and watched her as she filled a glass with the water. Then he knew -- he had to sit up – at least a little – to drink, and the thought of just that small movement was dreadful. But if he didn't want to die of thirst, then he had to do it. Very carefully he tried to prop himself on his right arm, but gasped as a new pain shot through him. Pressing his eyes shut, he let himself sink back to the pillow, and swallowed another moan. No other choice: he had to support himself on his left arm, which meant that he couldn't hold the glass, but had to be assisted, like an infant. For a long second, forgetting his exhaustion, he gritted his teeth… and felt her soft fingers on his left shoulder. "Please may I help you?"

She met his eyes again and saw something like anger in them, before his fatigue got the better of him again. Swallowing his pride he nodded, and found the slender right hand of the girl behind his neck a second later, as she helped him to roll onto his left side. Then both looked at the glass in her hand, and an awkward silence lasted for a breath or two in the cabin. They both knew what the next step was. "May I help you again, or shall I get Smee?" Wendy asked shyly; seeing why such humiliation and discomfiture appeared on Hook's face.

Good Lord, so much trouble because of the lost hand! His request for Smee was on the tip of his tongue, but then it in. It wasn't so bad to have a sweet young girl care for him instead of the clumsy Irishman. Her presence was far more welcome in this moment. "Would you…?" he murmured, and didn't get out the words "help me."

Quietly Wendy set the glass at his lips, and as the fresh cool water touched his mouth, all resolve and thoughts of embarrassment left him. He gulped the water as if his life were at stake, ignoring her cautioning. "Not too fast, Captain, or you'll grow sick!" Damnit, he was thirsty and didn't care if he got sick or not! And then the glass was empty. "More?" she asked, ready to fill the glass again, but he shook his head.

No, she was right about being careful. The water was a blessing, yes, but his stomach started to protest. "Thank you," he murmured and avoided her eyes – ashamed of being so helpless.

Wendy pretended not to have seen any of the emotions that played on his face – so unusual and so unexpected for this man. "You're welcome," she answered politely, and set the glass back.

With a relieved sigh, Hook rolled back, sinking into the mattress, and his eyes fell shut for a long moment. Wendy thought he had fallen asleep again, when she met the blue depths looking at her.

"What …" he croaked, then cleared his throat. "How is my crew? The ship? Is Pan …?"

The girl smiled. Even laid up and exhausted, he was still captain, the one who always thought first of his ship. "The _Jolly Roger_ is fine, most of your crew have only minor injuries, and Peter is in one of the cabins sleeping." She took a deep breath. "You two had such luck!" Again their eyes met, and he patted the bed next to him. He wanted her nearer.

Gratefully, the girl sat down, her legs barely holding her up. The man frowned, trying to gather a proper memory. There was something about a vicious purple flash, and Pan sitting beside him, snarling that he wouldn't go without him – and an odd feeling like falling. But all was a blur, and in a few seconds, Hook decided to give it – and himself – a rest. The depths of sleep were calling him and he had to fight to hold his eyes open.

He slid a look to the girl beside him before surrendering to sleep. Only now he saw that her hair was damp and she wore one of his shirts, with dark circles under her tired eyes and pale as a sheet. Her shoulders, usually tall and straight, were bowed and her expression was one of utter exhaustion. Even in his state he saw the girl was dead on her feet. "How long since you've slept, beauty?" he asked, as something like concern chased across his face.

"Since the day before yesterday, when the ship fired on the cave opening and--"

"Since when?" Hook asked, more fully awake. He knew now that the girl had been up for more than two days, and was shocked that he seemed to have slept away a full day.

Wendy gave him a wan smile. "Since the day before yesterday," she repeated; anticipating that he was thunderstruck because he had been unconscious for so long. "You and Peter were carried to the ship yesterday and …"

"I've been asleep a whole day?" he murmured. "What time is it?"

"Late afternoon," Wendy answered, not remembering hearing the ship's bell lately.

Hook stared. The captain in him wanted a complete inspection, while the man in him said go back to sleep. The girl had given a good report about the crew (and he trusted her,) and the ship was safe in Pirate's Cove. And he had to admit, he doubted that he could get up and move around without help.

Wendy's gaze had dropped to the floor by her feet. The short silence was enough to allow another wave of Morpheus' Kingdom to wash over her. Her eyes started to burn and she tried to hide a yawn, but it was useless. Somehow she managed to lift a hand before her mouth, but even this gesture  
was suddenly too much. Her tired eyes wandered to the open windows, where the late afternoon-sun sent its rays into the cabin. Little dust-particles danced in them, were almost hypnotic. For a long moment strange pictures rushed through her mind and the captain's quarters started to vanish, as she felt a warm but weak hand on her arm.

"Where is your bed, Wendy?" Hook's voice was rough and quiet, but something of the old purr had returned.  
Again the girl yawned. "Down … near Peter … beneath …" and she yawned again, rubbing her hand across her teary eyes, "beneath the weapons locker." The thought of having to traverse that distance was miserable. She didn't even know how she would stand …

Also fighting against the tempting waves of sleep, Hook frowned, considering her route: she had to leave his cabin, climbed down the steep set of steps, then walk to the companionway, two decks down and then go back to aft. Not so far, but in her state … "You can take my settee, if you like. Blankets in the left side of the wardrobe," he suggested off-handedly, before the pirate in him could protest.

Wendy seemed not to have heard him, eyes nearly closed, head bowed, swaying a little before she visibly shook herself. Sighing, she lifted her head to look glassy-eyed at the comfortable, inviting chaise lounge. But… it was so … far away. She had to walk all the way across the cabin to reach it ... and didn't he say something about the wardrobe? It was way over on the other side of his bed and …

"Wendy?" Hook asked and squeezed her arm a little.

She shook her head, seeming to waken. "Thank you," she whispered and tried to rise, but her arms and legs didn't obey her anymore. No, just another minute … another minute to sit and rest … then she'd do it … couldn't she?

Hook saw her shoulders hitch with silent weeping. She was just a little girl this moment – overreaching her limits and helpless as a newborn. He knew that she wouldn't make it to the chaise; that might end up sleeping on the floor between it and the bed. Before the last week, he wouldn't have cared. Not one bit. But everything had changed – for her, for him, for all of them. He couldn't stand to see her like this – it made his soul ache. He pushed aside the blanket and extended his left arm – a silent invitation. "Come here, little one," he whispered, ignoring his own pain, he pulled her down beside him, so strong was his urge to protect her.

Another sob escaped her. "I can't anymore," was all she said before she fell over onto the pillow, asleep before her head rested on his arm.

Hook pulled the blanket over her, rolled on his left side (a relief to the injured right one) and spooned behind her. He buried his face in her damp hair and breathed in. He smelled his soap in her hair; sweet herbs mingled with her own rosy scent, and felt the tension leaving him. Her presence healed the fever in his blood. He knew that no dark dreams would haunt him now, her simple presence chasing away the inner demons. The same peace he'd known that morning in the Black Castle, when he found her sleeping beside him, filled him, flowering in his chest, sending waves of well-being down his limbs.

Everything was all right. The ship and the crew were safe and Wendy was safe. They had defeated the dark warlock, he and Pan had escaped a volcano and a fall from a cliff. The golden sunlight filling his quarters proved that everything was as it should be – and anything else could be discussed later.

Sighing he pulled the girl closer, and even hurting as it did, he wrapped his right arm around her petite warmth. The last thought that tiptoed through his fading consciousness was the wish that it could be like this every time he went to bed – never alone and dreading the next lonely day, but lying with someone who cared for him – someone who even cared enough to risk her own life to save him. Then the warm darkness of sleep took him away.

--------------------------------------

Glawar stood in the door of the great cabin, contemplating the two forms in the bed with the shell-shaped headboard. It was a sweet view – the tall, strong man, and the small girl, still more child than woman. The man had surrounded her in a protective and possessive manner, while the girl slept in complete innocence and trust in his arms.

The woman smiled – and was startled by a soft 'pop' as the Klabautermann materialized. His clothes were dry again and he smoked at his pipe. Grumbling, he glanced at the two before he suddenly chuckled. He exchanged a glance with the lady and snickered: "You see the future as I do, bella! And this looks much as it will – later."

Glawar laid her right index-finger to her lips and winked at him. "The future is always in the mist of unknown time. Many turns lie in the path between now and then, and every one of them can lead to a different future." Her glance returned to the two sleepers, and for a moment she could see: This bed as through a haze and two bodies – entwined and clinging to one another. Large eyes, dark with passion, fixed in utter wonder and adoration to the one above, while the other radiated an almost desperate need …

Then the images disappeared and compassion filled the beautiful eyes of the visitor. "He must wait – and even after the time of waiting is over, he will have to be patient—surely not an easy thing for such a man with such fire and passion."

Esteban nodded and snorted amusedly, peering at Wendy. "It is certain she will still have her claws – and her charm that can wrap him around her finger."

Glawar laughed silently. "Just as he is able to persuade her to do things she never thought of before." She turned to peer at the nyxx; they both felt and saw the same: "The boy wakes. I don't think it would be good if he wakes up alone."

Esteban scratched his head. "You go to Peter. The two here need no one to watch them at the moment." Suddenly he giggled. "Not now or tomorrow, but in the not so distant future…"

Glawar's eyes widened. "Esteban!" Then she smiled and left, while the Klabautermann vanished with another soft 'pop,' only his laughter echoing for a moment longer in the cabin.

Esteban's quiet laughter was enough to pierce the sleep fog of the captain, his mind – as always – on alert. Hook thought that he'd heard a noise in his quarters and groggily opened an eye. Then the other. He blinked in the golden-pink light outside – sundown, no doubt, in a hazy sky. Only the sunsets in the Caribbean and Neverland looked like this. He felt a warm small body pressed into his and the fragrance of one familiar to him, who meant him no harm. His fuzzy mind recognized the girl and he relaxed again, just as something caught his attention at the outside corner of his eye.

Fighting the drag of sleep, he lifted his head and saw a tall figure near the window. He blinked, but his sight remained blurred, even as the figure drew nearer. "Go back to sleep, Captain. Everything is all right," the soft voice said. All he could see was a pale robe, long, silver hair, and large dark eyes in a pearl-white face, while the strange woman seemed to hang in mid-air instead of walking. The sun was going down behind the stranger, bathing her in a golden light, making her as bright as new-fallen snow – and he knew in this one moment that an angel was in his cabin. Something in him cautioned him -- no angel of the Lord would ever visit him – James Hook, the Scourge of the Seven Seas – but could it be … one day … the angel of death … ?

"Lie back, Captain James. I will do you no harm," the gentle voice said, before the shining figure bent over him, hand extended toward the girl.

Thinking that this had to be that kind of dream that turned into nightmare, he felt apprehension rising in him, protectively pulling Wendy closer. "Stay away from her!" he whispered hoarsely, his muscles too tired to obey the urge to rise and to fight. He felt the room begin to spin, and felt more helpless than ever before in his life, and he could do nothing more than close his eyes and to hold the girl against him as if their lives depended on it. "Take me if you must have a soul, but not her!"

She barely understood him, and Glawar frowned, surprised and confused. By the clear bright stars above, of what was the man speaking? She was only pulling the blanket higher over the girl. She saw that the man was more asleep than awake, and she concluded that he mistook her in his fever for someone else – certainly a dangerous someone – and tried to protect the girl; offering himself instead.

Sighing, she lifted her hand and touched his temple; letting her protection fall, sending warmth and comfort into the haunted soul of the man. "Hush, everything is alright. I'll take no one with me, neither you nor her. Sleep now! Everything will be clear tomorrow!" she said soothingly and she saw the broad shoulders under the bandages relaxing, as he returned to sleep almost instantly. But still he was still wrapped about the girl.

Sighing again, Glawar carefully pushed him off of Wendy; knowing that he was too heavy for her. The girl murmured something in her sleep and snuggled her small back against him again, as she missed the warm contact even in the depth of her sleep. The woman smiled as she saw the tender beginning of another wonder of this world.

Fondly, Glawar pushed some hair out of the girl's heart-shaped face, pulled the blanket higher and left the cabin after a last look at the two for which Heaven had such extraordinary plans.

TBC….


	39. Time Of Recover

Hi there, everyone,

soooorry that it lasted a little bit longer with the update, but I am really busy in the moment. But, nevertheless, here we go to the next chapter. Have fun and thank you for all the nice reviews. I loooove them!

**Chapter 38 – Time Of Recover**

It was warm and cozy around him, and even through his closed eyes he could see dim light. Everything swayed and every noise seemed to come through thick mist. The only thing he felt was thirst. Burning, tormenting thirst; accompanied by a dull ache in his head. He wanted to sit up and to find somewhere something to drink, but he couldn't move one muscle. Tons of weight seemed to hold him in place. And then he felt odd pressures everywhere; as if his whole body was wrapped in something firm.

Suddenly a gentle, cool hand was pushed carefully under his neck and his head was lifted. Something appeared at his mouth, and a warm soft female voice whispered: "Drink, my boy. Drink."

Cool fluid touched his lips and acting on pure instinct he swallowed. At first it tasted awful, but as more as he drunk, the more the taste changed into something very pleasant, until he drunk greedily.

"Not so quick, Peter, or you will grow sick. Calm down, little hero. No one will take the water away from you."

The voice was like music; soothing and comforting. It pulled him softly out of the dizziness, and also calmed him enough to make him wanting to fall back asleep. Collecting all his strengths he opened his eyes. Through haze he saw above him the face of a woman, far too beautiful to be real. Pearl-white skin, large, soft moss-green eyes, long silver-white hair and a gentle smile that only seemed to exist to break someone's heart. He felt long tender fingers, who stroke lovingly over his cheek – like the comforting gesture of a mother he had tried to forget.

"Everything is all right, little hero. Go back to sleep."

He wanted to talk to the strange woman. There were many things he wanted to know – if he only could remember them. And during thinking about it, he drifted back into a peaceful, recovering deep slumber.

The woman straightened her slender shape and twinkled at the tiny golden fairy, which looked with big eyes up to her. "Don't fear for him, Tinker Bell. He is strong. Tomorrow it will be already better and soon he will be able to get up again."

The golden fairy glanced at the Elfish woman; asking herself who she was and how she had gotten here. But then she decided that it didn't matter in the moment. Her Peter was safe and Neverland was it, too. That was all that counted to her. Sighing she rolled into a small golden ball and was asleep within seconds again.

It knocked quietly and Smee stepped in. His tired red eyes were directed on the boy and then at the Elfish woman, whom he barely dared to address. How was it possible that such a beautiful creature, so perfect and shining, could exist? "How's the boy doin'?" he asked, and his Irish accent was stronger as normally now.

Glawar smiled gently at him. The moment she met him she knew that he had a good heart. Yes, he was a pirate, but deep down in his soul he was a warm nice man. She could feel his loyalty, his worries for his comrades and his captain – and even for the children – and his urge to protect anyone who was weaker as him. She could imagine him sitting on a cold stormy evening in front of an open fire in a comfortable armchair, wrapped in a blanket and telling stories. Well, the most buccaneers didn't reach that age to do this, but she knew that Smee was on of the famous exceptions. She remembered his question and gestured softly at the boy. "Better. I am certain that he will wake up tomorrow with a big hunger."

The boatswain grinned. "Good to know. Then I've to warn Cooky." He yawned and bowed. "Good night, milady. If you allow I'll search my bunk."

The Elfish woman nodded. "Of course, Mr. Smee. Good night to you, too." She watched him vanishing through the door and laid herself beside the boy. The bed was wide enough for them and so she could comfort him, should the feverish dreams become unpleasant. Listening to the, for her so strange sounds of the ship and feeling the soft, gentle swaying, she took a deep breath and drifted slowly into a light sleep.

And finally Neverland did the same. The gnomes, skeagshees, fairies, pixies and dwarfs laid down to sleep, the first tender blooming flowers closed their blossoms, the rabbits, deers and antelopes rolled together, in the tents the Indians snuggled into their woven blankets and the birds sat down on their nests. Only the owls were wide awake and glanced into the soft dark-blue darkness. The wolves, foxes, raccoons and wildcats prepared themselves to go on hunt, the sheeries and Will-o-the-Wisps looked forward to confuse incautious wanderer in the swamps and the survived trolls sat together on some rocks high above the sea and talked about the "fun and the super bashings" of the last days. The moon hung silver and full in the velvet-dark skies and the stars twinkled in their eternal song – telling faithful children all around the world of the fantastically adventures of Peter Pan.

-------------------------

Hook sighed deeply and shifted in the last waves of a fitful sleep. Stretching his legs he awoke suddenly, as a dull pain shot through him. Damnit! What a way to wake! Grumbling something about "blasted fights" and "getting too old for that", he opened his eyes and looked in the golden morning-sun that shone through the still open windows. The air in his quarters was cool, but fresh and smelled of sea and flowers. He could hear the squeaks of gulls and from somewhere he thought he could make out the chattering laughter of dolphins. Well, he was anything but suspicious, but that dolphins were a good omen he knew very well. There was not one single seaman in the whole world who didn't want to meet dolphins on his journeys. They really brought luck – even if Hook was convinced that this only resulted out of those animal's laughing faces and funny dances on the waves, what lifted the mood on board a ship in no time. And even he, who always pretended to have no happy thoughts, had to smile whenever a grinning grey mouth peaked out of the waves and a jolly chirping laughter was to hear.

In front of him a soft murmur was to hear and perplex he blinked down; realizing only now that he wasn't alone in bed. The sun-beams sent golden shimmers in the walnut-brown tuft that lay on his left upper arm, while a gentle breath danced over his skin. He was spooned against a slender, small body and a tiny hand held his bared stump in a gentle, but strong grip. The feeling was strange, but woke a warm sensation in him. For some reason it felt so good to being touched there where he was the most vulnerable. A smile tugged at his mouth and spread finally over his whole face as he remembered who had fallen asleep yesterday on the edge of his bed. Wendy! Of course, only she could do such a thing.

He sighed and tightened his embrace around her a little bit more. It really was almost heaven to wake up beside her; to be not alone and to feel a warm body near his'. And then he remembered that she had practically fallen asleep on the bed-edge and that he had pulled her beside him. Well, it hadn't been only out of protectiveness. He had wanted her beside him, and still did. He really did like it to have her with him and…

And then the odd dream of last night came to him. Oh… ALAS! When he had no nightmares about sinister events, blood and screams – or of this damn brat! – then he dreamed of an angel that came to take the only one who gave his dark existence a little bit light and warmth! Well, he certainly wasn't too godly and that he dreamed of an angel of death confused him, but the haunting pressurize had been all too real – and his fear to lose her. Damnit! He shouldn't be so fond of this little, irritating, sometimes infuriating girl, who killed his last nerves and… and was so damn cute and sweet with this shining smile of hers and those large dove-blue eyes, brighter as the sun.

Just one moment! He sounded like a silly schoolboy! _'There!'_ the pirate in him growled. _'Now you've finally lost it completely – irrecoverable! There you've the mess! You're thinking in _poetry_ of this little crabbiness beside you! A fine pirate you are!' _

'_Shut up!'_ his other half snapped, and added mockingly: _'As if you don't like her near as well!'_

Hook moaned, as he recognized that really both his sides liked it very much to be in her nearness. If she only would be four or five years older…

Again Wendy murmured something and he could feel her trembling. And then, suddenly, she started to trash around her, while he could see her face now – tensed, pale and tear-stricken. She had a nightmare. That really wasn't a surprise. After all she had been through it would have been not normal if she wouldn't have haunting dreams. Supporting himself on his left elbow – hell, did his whole body hurt! Had he been struck down by a large ship, driving through him? – He bent over her and stroke with his stump over her cheek. If she would have been awake he would never have done this with his mutilated arm. He was still to embarrassed of its sight to show it in public, but with her being asleep he did dare to use it in an almost normal way.

"Ssh, little one. Everything is all right. You're safe now," he murmured soothingly, and thought that he had heard those words a short while before, but spoken of a female voice. The fear on Wendy's face and the utterly helplessness she showed in the moment, touched again something in him he thought he had lost a long time ago. "Ssh, my beauty. Don't be afraid. No one will harm you," he whispered and pressed a soft kiss on her sweaty forehead. A small whimper escaped her and Hook pulled her closer; gritting his teeth as pain shot through him. Where was this damn Elfish ointment when he really needed it?

His attention was turned back to Wendy, as she suddenly clung to him and sobbed. He decided that this was enough. He couldn't bear to see her in pain! "Wendy?" he called gently, but firmly. "Wendy, wake up!" She whimpered again, and he used his stump to pat her wet cheek. "Come on, little one, open those lovely eyes, rise and shine!"

And as if she had heard him her eye-lids started to flutter and finally he could see those dove-blue depths again. Another smile rushed over his face – gentle and almost tenderly, and if he would have seen himself in this moment, his expression would have instantly changed into grim, because those features so didn't fit to the pirate-captain he usually was.

Wendy blinked up; only escaping slowly the terrible pictures of the nightmare. She had dreamed of the harpies – rushing on her and clawing their sharp talons in her flesh; of Peter and Hook – falling from the crater into the abyss, while the fairies couldn't reach them; of the troll that wanted to execute the buccaneer – and her arrow missed; of the Goblins – running them down; and of the 'Mount of No Return' – exploding and its ashes darkened the skies for ever. She shuddered and only realized step by step that she was a) in safety; that b) she had it warm and comfortable and that c) Hook bent over her, bathed in sunlight. She met his forget-me-not-blue eyes, which looked with warmth and gentleness down on her, and she fought the cold shadows of the nightmares back into the darkness they belonged to.

"Good morning, Captain" she murmured and saw a smile rushing over his face; half covered by a full beard. "Good morning to you too, Wendy – or Red-handed Jill?" he smirked.

The girl frowned. He didn't mention her self-given pirate-name for nothing. "What do you mean?" she asked and yawned. She still was incredible tired and felt as if she only had taken a short nap.

The buccaneer chuckled. "Well, what would your mother say if she would find you in a pirate's bed?"

Uncomprehending the girl glanced at him. "A pirate's bed is not better, nor worse than the bed of a merchandise." She yawned again; then she realized a little bit what he meant. "How have I come into this bed?"

Hook smiled; her deep innocence touched him. Of course she hadn't understood his joke. She was, after all, still a child. "You've fallen asleep on the bed-edge." He grinned. "So don't scold me this time, how I've dared to lay beside you – a young, soon-to-be lady."

Wendy giggled. She did feel comfortable in the moment – that, and lazily. "Well, this time it isn't your fault." She yawned again and stretched herself a little bit, before she met his amused gaze. "Thank you, kind sir, for not pushing me on the ground," she added, everything but serious.

He laughed quietly. "To throw a young lady out of bed would be more than bad form."

"Yes, and Captain Hook is always polite – even if he attacks someone," she teased, and rubbed her eyes. Then she realized fully that she laid beside a barely clad grownup man, in his bed and was herself anything but decent dressed. Blushing she pulled the blanket to her chin and glanced defiantly at him. "Sir, I do understand that I owe this sleeping-place your kindness and that you are injured, but would it be possible for you to sleep _dressed_ for once?"

For a long moment the buccaneer was stunned silent, then he laughed out loud. "Sweetie, I am a pirate. And I am used to sleep like this. And, by the way, it wasn't me who put me all wrapped up in a heap of bandages."

She cocked her head and looked closer at him. "Well, if you allow to speak openly: You look…"

"Don't say it!"

"Like…"

"Be silent, crabby!"

"A…"

"I do not warn you again!"

"Mummy!"

He stared at her – and Wendy broke into a laughing- fit; feeling free and uncaring for the first time for long. Hook still gaped at her – torn between the urge to teach her respect once and for all, or to simply join into her laughter that reached for his very being. Finally, grimacing, he growled: "And another big point on the bill for you, my dear." He met her gaze, teary from the laughing, and saw her flushed cheeks. Oh… what the heck! Rolling his eyes he shifted on his back and stared at the ceiling above him. He should be offended – and the only thing he felt was the still lingering tiredness and an odd amusement that tugged at his mouth, until he, finally, chuckled along with her. By all demons of the sea, there! She had done it again! She made him laughing instead of falling into rage. And… it did so damn good! He moaned. The Lord should prevent that one of the crew learned of it! He would lose all reputation.

"Are you ticklish?" he asked and Wendy – who thought of herself being one of the most ticklish girls in the world – giggled like mad. The mere thought of it mad her hysterical. Hook interpreted her reaction in his own way: He had hit the nail on the head. "Then be glad that I am not only looking, but also be bound like a mummy," he growled. "Because otherwise I would tickle you until you would beg for mercy."

Wendy still fought for control. She felt simper and high-spirited, what was – without her realizing it of course – another proof how tired she still was. "You wont," she snickered and met his eyes.

"I would, be sure of it!" he grumbled and groaned as he saw her shining eyes. If she would be several years older, he knew exactly how this 'tickling-attack' would end! _'Stop it, James! She is a child!'_ the gentleman in him warned him, and even the pirate in him growled something about _'t'ere are enough ot'er lasses in t'e world!'_ and _'you really aren't in such a need!'_ Grumbling Hook bit his lips and glanced back at the ceiling. What an odd situation he was in! And he was glad that no-one else saw him.

Wendy calmed, at last, down a little bit. Her look wandered to the open windows and she smiled as she saw the sun-rays shining through them. "Summer!" she sighed and found a way to tame the laughing-fit finally completely. "Finally there is summer again." Her suddenly bright eyes glanced back at the man, who turned his head toward her again. "Thanks to you and Peter." She took a deep breath. "You two really have given me a heart-attack as I saw you dangling there from this damn crater!"

Her words warmed him. Again he realized that someone cared for him – and it was so strange and unexpected that he didn't know how to handle all those odd feelings that rushed through his not-so-black heart. "Believe me; I haven't done it to irritate you." Then he frowned, as the first real memories came back.

He remembered the dark flash that shot in his direction; how he threw himself aside, while the boy's outcry rang in his ears; the pain in his chest; the strange noises he couldn't sort out; how Peter sat beside him and how the boy refused to leave him; the forces he had to use to walk only one step; the new quaking of the ground; the jerk as he rolled over the edge and the boy's hand held him – and then how they fell; screaming, clinging to each other and the golden living light above them. Hook laid back and, before he realized it, the whole events poured out of him. Without wasting a thought he started to tell what happened up there on the top of the 'Mount of No Return', whose name failed for the first time in the whole history of Neverland.

Breathless Wendy listened; laying on her right side, snuggled in the blankets and practically hanging on his lips, which were barely to see in the mess of his grown beard. She had to admit that she liked his moustache more than this dark mess. And then her whole attention was driven to his story, which wasn't a story at all; how he and Peter had been cut off from the others; how they escaped the cave in the very last moment before the lava flooded it; how they met S'Hadh again; how he defeated the daughter of the north-wind (finally), how he met Thalion and the others again; how he attacked S'Hadh from behind; how he remembered Peter's prophetically dream and what happened then. Of course she asked him about this dream of her little hero, and again he had no problems to speak about the events – even about what happened between him and the boy. All those things had to be told and he really liked it to tell them and to have such an interested and compassionate listener like the girl was now.

Wendy, still cozy and far too comfortable, told him afterward what happened after the allies had split up and she and the others had returned to the _Jolly Roger_. She told him about their way through the island, through the swamps, how they met Kailen, their fight against the Goblins, the unicorn's help, the day aboard and then how she met Esteban. Hook was perplex, to say it carefully, as he learned that the ship's sprite had shown himself to her and that he even had introduced himself to her. Hook had been the only person aboard, who knew the Klabautermann's name.

But then, shortly before Wendy could tell him about the attack of the harpies, a cheerful chattering laughter sounded from beneath the windows, and as the girl glanced with big asking eyes at the buccaneer, Hook had to smile and to nod. "Aye, there are dolphins."

If an ugly large spider or a harpy would have shown itself in this very moment, Wendy couldn't have jumped up quicker. With a loud: "What? _Dolphins_?" she threw the blanket away, was on her feet a moment later and ran to the windows. Hook, already missing her nearness, started to grin as he saw her dashing away and stretching her slender neck to have a better look out of the windows. "I can see them!" she almost screamed; flouncing in excitement, and glanced back at him. "They are directly beside the ship and jumping around!" She looked back into the water, stemmed herself half on the window-sill and gave – without realizing it – the pirate-captain a very good view on her slender legs because of the half-long shirt. The buccaneer had to smirk now. Well, there certainly were several curves still missing, but he didn't need much fantasy to imagine her in two or three years. She would be able to turn every man's head, including his'.

Wendy glanced with wild beating heart down in the sea. She saw the laughing faces of the dolphins, how they speeded out of the waves and returned in an elegant bow; saw them dancing and playing and whished with all her heart that she could join them. _'Soon!'_ she swore herself. _'Soon I can swim and then I swim with them!'_

Then another fishtail woke her attention. It was longer than those of the dolphins, and blue. And then a red-haired head peaked out of the waves and a long white arm stretched itself to the dolphins; webs were to see between the long fingers. Wendy's heart made a jump. Yes, she knew that the mermaids were dangerous, but nevertheless she loved them. "The mermaids are back!" she called cheerfully and slapped her hands.

"Beautiful!" Hook grumbled and shifted on his back. Alas, his whole right side and chest seemed to have decided to anger him, regarding their efforts to give him trouble.

"They left Neverland before the whole mess started, and that they are back shows that everything is really all right again," the girl grinned and glanced over her shoulders again to the pirate-captain.

"The rats left the doomed ship, and hope now to find the comfortable place of the bilge again," he commented with a growl, and Wendy shook her head. "Mr. Smee was right. You really are grumpy after waking up."

Hook lifted his head; his eyes wide as saucers. _What_ had this crazy, Irish hen said about him? And, by the way, he was _not_ grumpy.

"Yes, you are – a little bit!" the girl nodded sincerely and the buccaneer realized that he had spoken his thoughts aloud. He cleared his throat. "As far as I remember we had a nice long talk and I even took distance from teaching you manners after you calling me a mummy. So I am certainly not in a bad mood. And second, little one, you shouldn't…"

It knocked at the door and a moment later the reason of Hook's shock stepped in. "G'mornin', Cap'n, good morning little lady," Smee greeted with a broad grin. "The men told me t'at ye're awake, sir, so please allow a short disturbing." He didn't wait for an answer, but opened the door wider and Mullins, Bollard and Cecco stepped in, carrying the desk.

"G'mornin', Cap'n!"

"Good to see t'at ye're better, Cap'n!"

"We hurry, Cap'n!"

Hook, who had somehow managed to sit up, could only stare at the three crewmembers, which placed his desk at the place it belongs. What, the hell, had they had to do with _his_ desk? He wasn't used to have the men early in the morning in his quarters, while he was still in _bed_! With widening eyes he watched Mullins stepping to his bathroom-door and pointing at it. "Out wit' it, lads! T'e scratches are gettin' t'e hell from me!"

Hook, still unable to speak, could only watch them as they unhinging the door to his bathroom, while it suddenly knocked again and four other crewmembers entered; carrying two of his large carpets, which were rolled up.

"Mornin', Cap'n!"

"Slept well, Cap'n?"

"Good to see ya, Cap'n?"

"Mornin', Cap'n!"

With open mouth now the pirate-captain stared at the four, which eagerly rolled his carpets out, and set the dining-table and the chairs back to their places half upon them. Only now Hook recognized that they hadn't been in the usual place.

"T'e carpets are like new!" the Oriental commented.

"Aye!" Mason nodded. "And t'ey smell heavenly!"

"T'ere is not'in' better as a good wash in t'e snow!"

"T'ey hung t'e whole day and night outside, sir, and all the colors are back now."

"No blood on t'em anymore!"

They smiled like excited boys at their commander, bowed and vanished with greets and many words how happy they were that he was getting better. Mullins, Bollard and Cecco fallowed them, carrying his bathroom-door. "Don't worry, Cap'n, t'e door will be like new when I'm done wit' it!" Mullins smiled at him. "See ya, Cap'n!"

"'til t'en, Cap'n!"

"Bye, Cap'n!"

The door closed behind the three and finally silence was back. Hook, still too thunderstruck to say or to do something, could only stare at the closed door. A repressed giggle woke him finally out of his shocked state and he glanced at the girl, who still stood at the windows, had pressed one delicate hand on her mouth and fought with small success another laughing-fit. Smee, who had started to put the documents and maps back on the desk, chuckled as well. The sight was simply too droll: Captain James Hook, Scourge of the Seven Seas, the only man even Barbeque feared, sat in his bed, hair and beard a mess, wrapped in bandages like a package and stared with open mouth for more than a minute now at his door; unable to find a word to speak. Well, that certainly was a historical moment. Usual no-one and nothing could make this man speechless.

Hook, finally realizing what he must look like, shut with a click his mouth and fixed his gaze on his confidant, who shook with repressed laughter. "Mr. Smee, could you please tell me what _this_ was?"

"That were several of the crew, who repaired your desk and cleaned the carpets, Sir," the Irishman answered helpfully. "Oh, and Mullins thinks he can fix the talon-tracks in the door. Ye know that he is a half magician when it comes to wood, so don't worry, Cap'n!" He met the dark glare of his commander, and smiled the most kindly smile possible. "We thought it better to start to fix the battle-tracks as soon as possible." He placed the last documents on the desk, and heard Hook gasping.

Only now the pirate-captain had a very close look at his quarters; remembering finally what the girl had shriven to him. Even with the cleaned carpets and the repaired desk the mess was still to see. His gaze found the broken front-door of his cabinet; the missing dishes; the twisted candle-holder; the whole in the bookshelf; the dark spots on the wall, where harpy-blood still clung to and then the dark emptiness where normally his bathroom-door was. His gaze shot to the girl, who smiled sheepishly at him. "You should have seen it before," she said shyly and looked with big excusing eyes at him. Again Hook was lost for words. _Before_?

"Ung… missy?" Smee's voice called out of the bathroom. "Are t'ose clothes in the bathtub yours?"

The buccaneer's eyebrows practically flew in the heights, and Wendy blushed. "Oh… sorry, Mr. Smee. I wanted to wash them yesterday, but I fell asleep." She rushed toward the bathroom, gaping pirate-captain, dolphins and mermaids forgotten for the moment.

"No problem, missy, I put them in the washhouse. There a lot of clothes which has to be taken care of," the boatswain voice sounded toward Hook, as well as Wendy's answer. "This is very kind of you, Mr. Smee. May I borrow a big towel that I can wrap around me? I only have to reach my cabin to change into something else."

"Of course, little lady. Just take this here. It's the largest one and clean."

"Thank you so much, sir!"

"You're welcome!"

Hook, feeling a little bit out-locked, cleared his throat. This here was _his_ cabin, by Alas, and _his_ towel, _his_ bathroom, _his_ bathtub that had been used as a wash-tub and _his_ shirt (the second one!) the girl wore. "I beg for pardon to interrupt this little nice talk of you two, but is there the slightest possibility that someone _asks_ me, before using my things?"

Wendy's face appeared in the door-frame, smiling sweetly at him. "You already allow me to use your bathroom, sir, and a towel should count as a part of it, too." Her head vanished, and the buccaneer could only blink. What the devil was happening here? Brimstone and gall, he was a respect-person and certainly no-one to be ignored! He opened his mouth to start a tirade, as Wendy came back, wearing his large, soft, favorite towel as kind of skirt, above it his shirt and held one of his combs in the hand. "May you borrow me the comb, Captain? My hair is really in need of a good brush."

Hook could only nod, before he said in a strange, hollow voice: "This towel, my dear, will be needed by me after the coming bath."

Wendy smiled again one of her sunny smiles. "No problem, Captain. Until you are allowed to bath it will be clean again." She rushed toward the door. "Thank you very much for you hospitality, Captain, and that you let me sleep here. I really do appreciate your kindness."

She wanted to leave and let him behind in this… this chaos she was the reason of? "Stop, Miss Darling! Not so quick! We have to talk about the one or other thing."

Wendy had reached the door and beamed back at him. "Yes, I know. But first Glawar has to change your bandages and you have to eat something."

"Breakfast will be ready soon, sir!" Smee called out of the bathroom.

Wendy spread her arms a little bit. "See? First you have to be taken care of yourself. And I have to wash, have to look after the boys and Giliath. And then we can talk. See you." She vanished in the entrée – but peaked one lat time back to him. "And stay in bed, Captain! You still need rest!" With that her face disappeared and the door was closed.

Perplex he stared at the empty spot where the girl's face had been only seconds before. Hadn't he given an order to stay? Hadn't he tried to speak with her? Who was she that she simply ignored his command – again – and did what she liked to do? And why, the heck, had she chosen _this_ towel? It was the only one that was large enough for him to wrap himself in it. And what did she mean 'until he was allowed to bath'? As if he would ask for _allowance_ what to do and to do not! And had she given _him_ an order? 'Stay in bed!' – Ha, this was impertinent. And who, damn it all back and forth, was Glawar? Maybe one of the Elfish warriors? And did she really think he would let one of those pointy-ears near him to be wrapped up like a mummy again? Stop! No mummy, but a injured pirate-captain, wearing the scars of a great battle. Well, it was, in the end, one and the same and… And what, for God's sake, was Smee there messing in his bathroom?

"MR. SMEE! I WANT ANSWERS! NOW!"

Outside several of the pirates, who had nodded at the momentarily funny dressed girl, exchanged a look. Well, Hook certainly was himself again!

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The Lost Boys and the two brothers sat together at the bow, looked down on the glistening waves and talked. They were awake for quite a time now, and to escape the stuffy air in the quarter they had been allocated they had climbed to the main-deck and then to the bow. Beneath them the figurehead stretched from the bow to the bowsprit – a female skeleton with long hair, the hand's clasped the bowsprit. Well, it wasn't one of the most beautiful figureheads the boys had seen, but certainly the most impressing one. And it fitted to the _Jolly Roger_ – regarding the fact that the name of the ship was identically with the black flag of all buccaneers that always showed a kind of skull or skeleton, mingled with bones, cutlasses or an hourglass – ready to show anyone that his time was running short.

The boys were in a good mood. Glawar had told them only minutes ago that Peter was doing better and would surely awake this morning; Wendy had waved to them from the bridge, and the boys were relieved to see her well (they had been worried as they learned that she had fallen asleep in Hook's cabin; knowing perfectly well that the pirate-captain hadn't seen the chaos in his private room until now) and Thalion had said that Giliath had regained conscious. That, then the up-warming air, the dancing dolphins and the steady greening island were enough to let the children forgetting the terrible events of the last days.

Suddenly a cheerful voice of a younger man sounded in their backs. "Hey t'ere lads, aren't ye hungry?"

They turned and faced Billy Jukes, who had his left arm in a loop. "Yeah, we're starving!" Tootles whined and Slightly and Nibs rolled their eyes.

"You're always starving!"

"How can be someone all times hungry?"

The podgy boy made an unhappy face. "I've lost weight during the last days…"

"That I'm doubting!" John teased.

"And I feeling empty like a eviscerated Christmas turkey."

Jukes started to laugh. "Well, we couldn't let t'at 'appen, couldn't we!" He waved to the aft. "Come on, boys, breakfast!"

That was a magic word. Within seconds the boy were down from the bow and accompanied the young gunman, who had turned out to be not such a bad guy at all. As they climbed up to the higher middle-deck and from there down to the aft-deck, a man's voice grew louder. It came from the captain's quarters and the Lost Boys exchanged a short look.

"Is this…?"

"… Hook?"

The Twins asked; glancing with large eyes toward the pompously decorated door at the bridge beneath the poop-deck, from where the angry voice sounded – even through the thick wood.

Jukes chuckled and nodded. "Aye. He's always grumpy after wakin' up and t'en t'e state of's cabin…" He laughed. "It's a luck t'at our li'lle lady has tamed his temper lon' enough to escape befor' he saw t'e whole mess for real."

"Is it that bad?" Slightly asked and Michael rolled his eyes.

"It's pure chaos. Mother and Aunt Millicent would faint, believe me."

John snickered. "Well, I think that the places he left behind after raiding them didn't look otherwise." Billy Jukes laughed out openly. "T'at ye can guess! But only t'ose which didn't belon' to a lady. T'e cap'n is always a gentleman."

"You mean, he raids them but in a very polite way?" Curly asked perplex, and the gunman grinned like mad. "Aye! Come on, lads, or t'e plates're empty till we t'ere!"

Still half cautious, half amused the boys fallowed him toward the common-room.

-----------------------------------

Warm sun that shone through the open porthole almost blinded him. Fresh air that smelled like heaven danced around him; carrying the soft fragrance of flowers, wood and pepper with it, mingled with salt and the unique scent of freedom. He heard sea-gulls screaming and the laughter of the 'dancing fishes', how he had called dolphins as he had been a very small boy, barely able to walk but to fly. His gaze fell on the tiny golden body beside him: Tinker Bell. She looked dirty and torn – such a difference to her usual appearance and at last the memories of what had happened flew back to him.

Peter moaned and closed his eyes. The last minutes of the great battle rushed back to him – the desperate fight to be not thrown into the crater; the dark spells of S'Hadh, as one of them hit him at the leg – burning and paining more horrible as he had ever thought something could hurt; Hook's emerging, his fear for the pirate-captain and his therefore found bravery to attack the warlock with bare hands; him defeating the wizard with the Elfish sword; his tries to convince the badly injured Hook to come with him; him catching the buccaneer in the very last moment – the agony in his shoulder as he thought his arm would be torn out as he held the man; and then, at last, their falling – down into nothingness…

The golden light above them; the feeling of tiny hands… Suddenly Peter knew what had happened: the fairies happened. They had saved him – and hopefully Hook as well. The boy felt nervousness befallen him as he thought at the pirate-captain and his eventually fate. He didn't want the man to die anymore. He wanted him to live and to be safe. He had been a loyal alley to him, had even risked his life many times to rescue him, had comforted him and they had shared several moments of understanding and even humor. The minutes he had thought the pirate being murdered – first after S'Hadh had given his servants the order to execute Hook and then, later, after he had knelt beside the buccaneer; thinking him dead because of the wizard's attack – had been the most horrible moments of his life.

What was happening to him – or, to say it clear – had already happened to him? Before the whole mess with the dark wizard had started, he and Hook had tried _everything_ to kill each other. He hadn't been able to stand the man's sight or even his name. And now…? The mere thought that the pirate-captain maybe was dead woke a lump in his throat.

"He is alive – as well as Giliath, Wendy and all the others who are dear to you," a soft female voice said, and startled Peter sat up – only to sink back with a loud moan. By the mace of the trolls, there really was no part in his body that didn't hurt. Tink awoke beside him, glanced up and shot in the air with a loud cheerful jingling, that made him dizzy.

"Yeah, Tink, I am glad to be alive, too," he grumbled. "Or not, because every inch _hurts_!" The mattress beside him moved and he looked up – straight into a face that seemed to come directly from heaven. He glanced into the warm moss-green eyes, which were somehow familiar to him, and frowned. He had seen this face in his dreams, but that it was real now… "Who are you?" he asked hoarsely; realizing now how thirsty he was.

The mysterious woman seemed to read his thoughts, or she simply was experienced with dealing of casualties, because she took a glass, filled it with water, helped him to sit up and placed the glass at his lips. His right shoulder felt as if a nasty dwarf would swing his hammer inside of it, while a little evil bogey seemed to have enlighten a fire at his right leg. No, to be awake was certainly not a pleasant thing. Nevertheless he drank eagerly and heard the strange woman laughing. He shot her a glare. How dared she to laugh about him and…

And then he saw her pointy ears and it hit him: she was an Elf. And the moss-green eyes, so similar like Giliath's eyes… He stared at her, and as he put the glass away, he blurted out: "You are Giliath's sister!"

Glawar nodded, smiling. "Yes. My name is Glawar – that means sunlight in your language." She cocked her head. "And I am indeed Giliath's sister. You have a very good power of observation."

The boy grinned. "Yes. And I am clever!"

What had her brother said? That the boy had a self-confidence from the size of the mountain? Well, her dear brother-heart had underestimated; that was for sure. "That you are, Peter. How are you?"

The boy made a face: "I feel beaten, detonated, turned into a beef tartar and roasted over a fire. Exactly in this order."

The Elfish woman made a compassionate sound, before she chuckled (what a way of description) , pulled the blanket away and glanced for a moment at the little hero. He looked like a wrapped-up surprise-package and smirked a little bit embarrassed as she bent over him. "Do I looking like I feel?" he asked, and Glawar laughed out. "Worse!" she stated, and the human child rolled its crystal-blue eyes, while a capturing grin spread over the pale but pretty features. "This could not be."

The Elfish woman pursed her lips; amusement danced in her warm eyes. She liked the boy and she could understand now why her brother was so fond of him. Giliath's first question, as he had regained conscious, was if the boy was save and all right. And then he had stared at her; realizing at last that his _sister_ was with him. She was the older of them both – she was only a minute older, but she teased him with this merciless – and she had cheered him up with the words that she had to take care of her little brother. Several of the pirates had watched them; recognizing that the two Elves were twins. And even if they hadn't understand one word of the music-like language of the Elves, they had known that the two were teasing each other – something they liked. Sometimes humor was the only thing that was left for a pirate.

Glawar's attention was driven back to the boy. He needed to be taken care of. His state still wasn't the best. "I am sorry, Peter, this will hurt a little bit, but I have to have another look on your leg. The dark wizard's spell has caused a kind of wound that can't be cured with conventional medicine."

Peter bit his lips and watched her unwrapping his leg. "Hook…" he began hesitantly. "The same spell graced his chest and… and he was so weak. Is he…" He hissed as the Elfish woman removed the last layer of the bandage and glanced down on him. "Oh my," he murmured as he saw his leg. "Now I know why I'm feeling like being roasted. Even the flash that graced me once, didn't left such a nasty burn!"

Glawar glanced at him. A _flash_ graced him? The boy had more luck than mind! "It will heal, but it need time – and patience." She winked at him. "Something you don't possess, don't you?"

The boy grinned. "No, not really." He fumbled for his right shoulder. "What happened to my arm? Why is it fixed like this?" He gritted his teeth as Glawar took a clean cloth, dipped it into a bowl and stroke some of the Elfish salve on his leg.

The woman sighed: "To answer all your questions: Captain Hook is exhausted and beaten like you, but he will make it. And…"

"So the fairies saved him, too?" the boy interrupted; hope in his eyes.

Glawar lifted a brow. Well, the boy's and man's enmity had definitely reached its end. "Aye!" Then she continued: "Your right arm was torn out of the joint and has been pushed back. Be happy that you have been unconscious then. But now it has to be kept still to give the stretched tendons time to recover."

Peter muffled a scream as Glawar started to wrap a new bandage around his leg. It really burnt and he felt tears shooting to his eyes. Then the warm slender hand of the Elfish woman touched his forehead – and suddenly all pain vanished. Out of big eyes he stared at her. "How…?" he began, and Glawar laughed, while Tink – who soared the whole time worried above them – rolled her eyes. This boy really had sometimes a long way to his mind.

"I am a healer, Peter. Of course I can help others with my mental powers."

"But… but Giliath said that you are a seer?" the boy threw in; curious.

"Yes, and a healer. All members of our family are healers." She returned to work on his leg, and finally – after a further minute – she straightened her shape. "All done," she smiled and pulled the blanket back, shook out and spread it over him again. "Now rest a little bit. I'll take care that you get a breakfast. And you, too, Tinker Bell."

The golden fairy winked at her and nodded.

Peter watched the Elfish woman going away; the long white robe and the long sleeves wafted gracefully behind her; her long hair waved. "Glawar?" he called and met her green eyes again. "How have you come here to Neverland? Through this odd portal-thing Giliath told of?"

The Elfish woman repressed a laughter because of this description, and nodded. "Aye. But this story I will tell you later. Someone is before the door, who yearns to see you?"

Curious Peter lifted both brows. "Wendy?" he asked hopefully, what made Tink snorting. Of course his first thought by hearing of a visitor was the girl. But then the golden fairy sighed. Well, Wendy had shown loyalty, bravery and utterly care. And she knew that she couldn't destroy what was between her beloved Peter and the human girl. A little bit frustrated she soared to the table at the other wall and sat down there.

Glawar nodded with another wise, gentle smile. "Yes, she…"

In this moment it knocked at the door and the girl peaked in. Her gaze found Peter and she beamed at him. "You're awake!" she exclaimed cheerfully, and the boy grinned at her: "Aye!" Then his eyes widened as the girl stepped in. Never before he had seen her in a proper dress – and certainly he had never imagined her in _such_ a dress. It was made of a soft light-blue material that flow around her like it was made of wind; the color matched exactly her eyes. The collar was wide and covered barely her shoulders; the sleeves were long and reached almost to the ground, as well as the hemline that ended in a small train. A white belt was bound around her waist and ended in the front in a long stripe, embroidered with strange, beautiful ornaments. She had bound the front-part of her hair back and then it hit Peter: she looked like the female Elf – even if her ears gave her true race away.

Wendy blushed as she saw Peter's look, that changed from gaping, over swallowing to a, finally, broad grin. She exchanged a short glance with Glawar and curtsied. "Thank you so much for the dress, Glawar. You can't imagine how good it feels to be finally dressed decent again and to have the legs free of the tight leggings and boots." Pure gratefulness played on her face.

The Elfish woman laughed. She had changed one of the three dresses she had brought with her for herself early in the morning. It hadn't been too much work. She only had to shorten the length, because the width could be changed by the lanyard in the back, where the dress had to be laced. That the sleeves were a little bit too long for the momentarily fashion didn't count, because Wendy was certainly the only girl in Neverland that wore an Elfish dress; so no one would recognize the difference. Glawar smiled as the girl stepped to her and wrapped her arms around her; snuggling close to her. Gently she returned the embrace and held Wendy close; sensing her need for comfort and simple affection. She was still exhaust and the Elfish woman liked to give the mortal child the mental warmth it needed.

"_Ta nae amin saesa_ – it was my pleasure," she said gently, and Wendy looked up to her.

„_Diola alle_," she answered; smiling as she saw the lady lifting a brow in surprise. "Giliath taught me that," she added, and Glawar chuckled. "My brother does have a thing for teaching," she joked.

"How is he doing?"

"He is recovering. Don't fear for him anymore. My brother has a strong nature and a even more strong and stubborn will." Her glance drifted to Peter, who still looked with wide eyes at Wendy. The Elfish woman repressed a giggle that suddenly bubbled in her, as if she would be a young girl. She really needed no special mental senses to recognize his amazement and childish adore for the mortal girl. "Exactly like our little hero has," she whispered, and laughing Wendy turned around to Peter; her cheeks pinked again as she saw his gaze.

Peter searched for a word; for something intelligent to say, but all what came over his lips was: "H… hello!"

Giggling Wendy went to his bed and sat down on the bed-edge. Glawar's "I let you two alone now," was quit by her with a soft: "Until later," before her full attention was on the boy, while she heard that the door was quietly closed. Wendy cocked her head. Peter really looked beaten and sick, but his still glassy eyes showed the first familiar sparks again. "How are you?" she asked, and the boy shrugged – grimacing as a raging pain shot through his right shoulder. "I had been worse. I don't remember exactly when, but…" He grinned this famous grin, and Wendy smirked. "Well, to say the truth: you look like hell!"

Peter chuckled. "You should see the other guy!" The girl rolled her eyes. Where had she heard _this_ before? "How are the boys?" her friend asked; slightly worry laid now on his pale face with the feverish red cheeks.

"A few scratches here and there, but nothing serious. Several of the Elves, pirates and Indians had gotten it worse." She lowered her gaze.

"How many haven't…" He bit his lips. "… haven't made it?"

Wendy shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Several of them, that is for certain." She sighed and glanced to the porthole; relishing in the golden sun that radiated through it. "I am so happy that it is over now," she whispered.

Peter made an affirming gesture. "I, too!" He sighed and looked her again up and down. "You… you are looking… pretty," he murmured; blushing until his face showed the color of a matured tomato. Wendy reddened as well; her eyes shone like two stars. "Thank you," she whispered. Never she had thought that Pete would made such a compliment.

For a moment an almost embarrassed silence hung in the room, then Peter scratched carefully his head – damnit, it still ached! – and glanced at Wendy again. "How you are doing?"

"Not bad. All right, I am still a little bit tired… uhng… more or less, I mean, but…" she grinned sheepishly. "I think we all are still in need for rest. Heavens, even Hook slept the whole day and night through."

Peter chuckled. "Well, at his age…" he grinned, and Wendy made a face. "He really isn't that old, Peter."

The boy laughed out. "Exactly his words, before… well… before we fell from the mountain." He frowned. "Is he really fine?"

Wendy took a deep breath. "He has a voice like a grater, sits in his bed and chased the men around." She cleared her throat. "Smee, ship's status! Mullins, how long do you need to repair this damn door? Cookson, I need a breakfast _now_ and not in the evening! Short Tom, shut up! Smee, where is the bloody ship's report? Cookson, my tea!" Her voice-imitation wasn't that good like Peter's was usually, but she matched the pirate-captain's tone very well.

Peter was laughing now – that hard it hurts; and this not only in the belly, but over all. He really was anything but fit. Nevertheless it was so damn good to laugh openly. He could practically feeling the heaviness and worries vanishing and setting his heard free again – easy enough to fly, if he would dare to leave bed in the moment, what he didn't.

"You're right. He really can't be in such a bad situation, if he shouts around like this!"

Wendy giggled; then compassion showed in her eyes. "He is badly beaten, Peter. But you know him: he doesn't want to admit it – or show any weakness." Suddenly she smirked. "Like you!"

"I am not like the codfish!" Peter protested, and the girl snickered. "Well, Giliath, Thalion, Smee, Glawar, the whole boy-gang and Great Panther are thinking that way, including me. So many people can't be wrong!" she teased, while she had counted at her fingers how many of their friends had the same opinion. The eternal boy grumbled something, sighed finally and relaxed into the cushions.

"What happened after we split off the second time?" he asked after a short while of comfortable silence, which only was interrupted by Tink's soft snoring. The golden fairy had fallen asleep on the table between a towel and several documents.

Wendy told him everything – even about her rescue-trip back near the crater of the 'Mount of No Return'. Peter's eyes were very large as she ended. He couldn't believe at first that she had ridden on the _unicorn's_ back to help him and Hook, had shot a troll with bow and arrow, had saved the buccaneer and had now helped the injured allies for more than two days – and, what he liked to hear the most, had made Hook speechless. If his body wouldn't hurt so much he would roll around with laughter. He so would have loved to see the pirate's face, as the girly simply had let him behind, despising his order.

Then he told Wendy all what happened from his point of view. The girl already knew the most from the pirate-captain, but it was thrilling to hear everything again from Peter – and more as he told her about being kidnapped from S'Hadh and his fight up there on the crater's edge.

Like this, chattering and talking the two sat together, until a grinning Smee served breakfast, giggling about the still upset captain, who was two decks above them and more than grumpy. And, finally, the other boys visited their leader; overjoyed to find him awake and doing better. Wendy sat beside Peter on the mattress, ate her breakfast and the rest of the morning went by with talking, joking, drabbling about the last events and proud reports about their heroic doings. At one point of time Bumblyn came in – groggy and suffering a hangover beside a big cold he caught during his involuntary swimming-trip the day before.

Finally, as Thalion stopped by as well – clearly relieved to find the children in such a good mood and the eternal boy being on the mend, Wendy collected the dishes from the breakfast and returned them to the galley, where a – like always – swearing Cookson took them from her and practically ordered her out of his domain. His anger wasn't complete overdone. Because of the last events aboard, before the allies had left the ship to come to the aid for their comrades with the 'flying canons' (how this part of the adventure would go into Neverland's history), no-one had thought to make the dishes from the dinner before the attack. And so Cookson had found his galley in complete chaos – including the tracks of the quaffing of the three sprites. So, maybe, his rough tone toward Wendy was – this time – excused.

Finally, yearning for the warm fresh air outside, the girl climbed the companionway up, stepped to the rail, closed her eyes, let her head sinking into the neck and relished in the soft warm breeze, the quiet noises of the ship, the splashing of the waves and the animal-voices in the skies and from the island.

It was over!

Neverland was returning to its usual self!

The darkness had been defeated and been chased back into the shadow-world, where it belongs!

Wendy lifted her hands over her head and let out a yelp of joy; didn't care for a moment that she wasn't alone.

Low chuckles and amused snorts let her turning around; blushing. Several pirates and Elves looked in her direction and laughed a little bit – and even the roughest of the buccaneers had understanding on his face.

Smee emerged beside her; his eyes betrayed his good mood – but only for a moment before he said: "Little one? The Cap'n wants to talk with you. And I don't think it would be a good thing to let him wait any longer."

Wendy swallowed and a suddenly sinking feeling was in her stomach. Her gaze wandered to the bridge and the quarterdeck, where the owner and commander of the ship waited. She knew that he really had to pick a bone or two with her, and she didn't looked forward to it. Only the deep anchored knowledge that he wouldn't do her any serious harm gave her hope. But nevertheless she knew also that he wouldn't let her from the hook too easy (even if not in a literal sense).

Sighing she walked toward the staircase; praying that Hook had calmed down in the meantime and that he would let her head over water…

TBC…

Well, there will be two more chaps and the prologue, just give me a little bit more time.

Thanks for the patience.

Love you all

Lywhn


	40. Things to speak of

Hi, dear readers

here we go to the next chapter. I'm sorry that I didn't update sooner, even if the next chapter is beta-readed, but I caught a flue and was not online.

But now, finally, at Halloween, I'm better and of course my next thing to do was to publish the next part of the story.

I hope, you'll enjoy it and PLEASE review.

Love you all

Lywhn

**Chapter 39 – Things To Speak Of**

While Wendy had been with Peter and the others, Thalion was visiting Giliath. The younger Elf was still pale, and a sheen of sweat on his face, but he was awake and his green eyes were no longer glassy. When he spoke, his voice was not much more than a whisper, but the Elfish commander knew his friend too well to prevent him from speaking. Giliath wouldn't stop when he wanted to know something – or discuss something. So Thalion delivered a full report of all that happened. He gave the highlights, but Giliath – knowing Peter and Hook very well – asked for details when it came to the reported 'betrayal' by the pirate-captain, and the later flight through the volcano. In the end, the Thalion explained everything, finishing with the words: "And now we are aboard the ship for two days and are recovering – with the help of your sister!"

Giliath, tired after the long interview, shook his head. "Difficult to believe all of it," he murmured. "The two were far more than just lucky to escape death so often. And Wendy and the unicorn … and the fairies saving Peter and the man …" He sighed. "It seems I missed a lot."

Thalion nodded, his brown eyes twinkling. "Yes, but you thought you needed a lie-down. Of course, you were probably right, for you had come a long way, but still the timing was somewhat … unfortunate."

Giliath gave the other a friendly shove. "I think I would have preferred wakefulness to Goblin swords – and Peter thinking me dead." He sighed, remembering the boy's cry echoing through the cave. "How is the lad? Awake?"

Thalion nodded. "I heard his voice from his quarters aft. I think Wendy was with him." He smiled. "Your sister altered a dress to fit her. Now she really looks like one of our kind."

Giliath smiled too, picturing the human girl in Glawar's dress, then he groaned as another pain went through him. "I cannot help it, but I feel like a tenderized steak!"

Now Thalion had to laugh; remembering the buccaneer saying much the same thing on the Mount of No Return after defeating the harpy. He then had to explain it to Giliath, who chuckled as well – only to grimace and mumble something uncomplimentary about Goblins.

"Still complaining?" Thalion asked, and the younger Elf made a face.

"I remember a certain warrior, who arrived in our valley over six hundred years ago, searching for peace and a cure, because he looked like the human's swiss cheese. Oh, and how he could groan!"

Thalion cleared his throat; shooting a glare at the friend who smiled back. "And you've waited all these years for the chance to pay me back," he teased, and the younger Elf grinned.

"Aye! And worth the wait!"

The dark-haired Elf pursed his lips. "And it was this reason you offered yourself as a target for a Goblin? Really, Giliath, I am touched!"

"Thank your stars that I am still abed. Otherwise you'd not mock a…"

Thalion lifted a warning finger. "Don't, my friend. You are still too weak. And I don't intend to explain to your sister what might have happened to you while I am in here with you. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, but she has the claws of a lioness when it comes to her little brother!"

Giliath smirked. "Did you just tell me you have a weak spot for my sister?"

"What grown man wouldn't?" Thalion said, blustering. It was a fact that he'd been enamored with Glawar for centuries, but he – who would never back down in the face of the fiercest enemy – had never found the courage to tell her. To take his mind off the subject, he answered Giliath's question with an amused smile: "I can think of one man who could resist." To Giliath's raised eyebrow, he grinned, "The same man she's trying to get back on his feet, the very same man who turned into a hero and who has the spleen to keep everyone at arm's length, except that crazy hen-like boatswain, or the pretty little girl who has him wrapped around her sweet intentions."

Giliath frowned – then laughed aloud when he realized of whom Thalion was speaking. "Glawar wants to mend Captain Hook? Interesting conundrum – who is more stubborn, she or the captain?"

Thalion nodded. "Aye! Care to place a bet?"

Hook set his jaw while Smee helped him put on a clean shirt. Earlier, the Irishman helped him wash, then shaved him and brushed out his hair, even if it had been a torment. He admitted (to himself) that Wendy had been right, and he really needed more time to recover. And he HATED being so vulnerable!

Another knock at the door, and he growled, thinking it was another of the crew who were fussing about his cabin that day. "STAY OUT, unless it is her royal crabbiness, here to apologize!" The door opened – and so did Hook's mouth.

Never in another hundred years would he have expected such a person. He stared at the tall, pale woman who moved into his quarters, a gentle mocking smile on her lips. His gaze took in the hair, the old-fashioned elegance of her dress, and a face that was more beautiful than any face had a right to be. He watched her graceful movements, more fluid than a nymph in the water – and then he remembered -- last night! A horrible nightmare of the Angel of Death coming for Wendy … Well, so it was no dream at all. Glimpsing her ears, he saw she was nothing like an Angel of Death, but only a bloody Elf! Great! A he recalled, he'd acted a fool.

"It was you!" he said, colder than he intended.

Glawar's smiled broadened, knowing to what the glowering captain referred. "Aye," she nodded. "And be reassured I am not here to take anyone from this ship, but simply to help." Her voice was silky smooth – like a light breeze on an early summer-day.

Hook tilted his head. Had they met under different circumstances, he would have been attracted to her, but she had taken him by surprise last night (which he resented), made him feel a fool (which he resented even more), and even now radiated a strangeness that put him on guard. He could feel the power in her, and felt helpless in her presence – especially in his present weakened condition.

He heard Smee, at his side, clearing his throat. "Madam," the Irishman began, "seein' as t'e cap'n is dressed a'ready an'--"

The woman chuckled; feeling the uncertainty of the two men. "Mr. Smee, your captain's bandages must be changed, and his wounds cleaned again. Please get me a bowl with clear water and some clothes. I also need--"

"Milady," Hook interrupted politely, "I am grateful for your concern, but my bosun can take care of it now."

She shook her head. "I know that Mr. Smee has some practical medical experience, but your injuries are too complicated. They need to be treated with something more than water and rum." She stood tall before him, nearly eye-to-eye. She could understand the girl's fascination for this man. He had incredible blue eyes, pleasing features and a strong well-proportioned body, but he also possessed an aura of strength, and hidden power that captured her attention. He expected his freedom, to do what he wanted when he wanted; and he was a man who was, unknown to himself, desperately lonely. And she knew that only the girl in the cabin beside the eternal boy would be able to still his heart hunger – someday.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she laid one hand on his left arm. "Come, Captain, let me attend your injuries again. The ointment must be refreshed and …"

Hook stepped back, her proximity making him nervous – not only because she was every inch a lady and he not even decently dressed. No, their brief contact had allowed him to feel her power, flashing through him like a spark of lightning. "Madam, Smee is quite capable of changing my bandages, I assure you."

She lifted a brow. "Yes, but can he gauge the condition of a wound as I do?"

"I do not know about your abilities, Milady, but Smee has had a lifetime to learn--"

"And I have had more than four hundred lifetimes time to devote to my craft."

"Well, we might not be the almighty Elves, but we aren't childr--"

"I never said that! But there is a difference between a trained healer and someone who has picked up enough here and there to provide first aid! No offense intended, Mr. Smee."

"None taken, mum," the little man murmured.

For a moment, the buccaneer was silent, then he changed his argument. "I'll give you that point, Madam, but I assure you that I do not need your help. Thank you." He turned, as if to dismiss her.

She folded her arms. "So it is true what I have heard about you!" She had his full attention now. "You are indeed ill-tempered and stubborn!"

It was at this point that Smee busied himself in another part of the cabin.

Hook, turning back, stared at her. "I am NOT stubborn!"

She smiled merrily. "Yes, you are. And you are ill-tempered when something doesn't go your way."

"I am simply standing on my own decision, Madam," he said, a genuinely irritated note in his voice, "and one of them is not to compromise a lady." She blinked uncomprehendingly, and he made a face. "Milady, in case you hadn't noticed, you are a woman in the quarters of a half-dressed man – a pirate, no less – and I'm certain that this is improper, even for an Elf!"

Glawar laughed quietly at the bluff. "But you have overlooked one thing, Captain: I am a healer – which means I am a neutral presence, allowed – nay, welcome -- anywhere."

He tried a new tactic, allowing a leer to wander down her body, and when his eyes eventually returned to her face, he saw her blushing. A smirk tugged at his mouth. "A 'neutral presence,' Madam, is not a description I'd use for you."

_Men!_ Glawar rolled her eyes and grabbed his collar with both hands. "So may we redress your wounds now, or must I take the entire morning debating your silly arguments?"

The buccaneer frowned. "I don't think--"

He was interrupted as she yanked the shirt from his shoulders; shaking her head. "Thalion is right: you are worse than a donkey."

"He said that about me?" the captain demanded – and felt his cheeks warm as he realized that he stood exposed to the waist – bandages, harness and all -- before this ancient, gloriously beautiful female.

Glawar smiled at him. "Yes – and I am certain that he and my brother are making bets, right this minute, as to which one of us is more stubborn."

Stunned, Hook could only look at her. _There was someone making bets about his behaviour?_ _By all demons of the Seven Seas, that was … Wait a minute … Her brother?_ Then he looked again into her eyes, and finally saw their living green. And he knew who she was, and why any discussion was useless. "You're Giliath's sister," he blurted, and Glawar laughed again.

"Aye! And since you know my brother so well, you know you can skip the argument!" With that, she sat him down, untied the bandage, and Hook groaned, laying his head back in reluctant surrender. _Elves!_

It was still the forenoon, and the air was warm. Hook sat in one of his comfortable armchairs reorganizing the ship-papers, documents, maps, logbooks, private notes, things which had been on his desk when little witch turned his cabin into … into this mess! Yes, the worst was gone, but there was still a lot to do before his quarters looked like they did before!

Swearing colorfully under his breath, he pulled out several sheets of vellum from the heap Smee had stacked before him – and stared with wonder upon them. One of them showed Pan – in all his mischievous glory, for the drawing was exquisite. The other one showed … him. Every lock of hair, the look, the expression were there in complete detail, rendered with a careful and affectionate hand. Lifting both brows, Hook carefully leaned back in the chair, feeling his injuries – and examined the two drawings closely. He knew that Wendy must have done them, and he was impressed by the fine style. Well, she was a girl of many talents, and this not the least of them.

A knock on the door, and he lifted his head. "Come!" he called, and a moment later, the girl stepped into his quarters; closing the door behind her. She looked nervously toward the bed. He had a few words for her – or more – and she certainly wouldn't like them. "Over here, beauty," he caught her attention, and her eyes found him, and widened when she saw him sitting there.

"Captain," she blurted, "why aren't you in bed? You should be there now – with your fever and injuries and all."

Even if her obvious concern touched him, he was still irritated: "Because I do not take orders on my own ship and in my own quarters." _Well, not exactly the truth. He had done it only an hour ago; from that blasted Elf healer._

Wendy sighed and shook her head. "But your wounds, sir … what if you tear stitches?"

"I am confident that your talented fingers would put everything to rights, and I would not need her help again," he answered dryly, with a hint of mockery. He saw her pink a bit and for a moment, he forgot his lingering anger and … and he stared with wondering eyes at her; seeing now that she was not wearing the leggings and his shirt anymore, but an honest-to-God _dress_. A dress – in the same style that Glawar wore. The long skirt and sleeves revealed Wendy's small figure, the belt accenting her slim waist and the wide collar highlighting the first feminine curves her body was developing. The crabby, wild, protective, exhausted pirate-girl had transformed into a little lady – more beautiful than ever. In his eyes, her beauty was greater than that of Glawar, because it was so human, so real, so … approachable. And …

He groaned inwardly. _Wonderful! Marvelous! Superb! How was he supposed to upbraid her NOW, and administer a suitable punishment for all the disorder she caused? To say nothing of her disobedience, her resistance, and all the other little things which he had added to the bill he intended her to pay?_

Wendy – who saw with some relief that the beard was gone, revealing the deliciously masculine moustache again – and saw also how his expression changed, from irritation to mild shock and finally to something like benevolence and admiration. He obviously liked the dress, and this was important to her. Shyly, she twirled before him, the soft skirt flaring across the floor. "Glawar altered one of her dresses for me," she began; smiling. "Do you like it?"

He almost laughed out loud. How like a g -- No; how like a female! And then he chuckled appreciatively. "Aye; I never thought the day would come when I would see you in something decent instead of a nightgown, leggings or a leather dress like one of the natives." He cocked his head and looked at her appraisingly, making her blush delicately. "You certainly look like a little lady. But this will not make me forget about when you acted like anything BUT a lady." He took a deep breath. "You do know that we have to talk – and I would appreciate it if this time you will not run away, putting it off."

Wendy nodded, and when he waved her nearer, she thought it best to obey.

Hook frowned. "What, no resistance? You seem to love to ignore my orders."

A sheepish smile came to Wendy's lips, while she answered quietly: "I do obey – especially from grownups – but …"

"But only if it conforms to your opinion," he finished. He pressed his lips shut for a moment, searching in himself for the anger he would need to lecture her, then continued: "And if you hadn't saved me or cared for me so well, I should have to assign a severe punishment for all you did."

The girl's eyes widened. "Me?" she squeaked. "What did I do?"

The buccaneer gaped. Was she teasing? "Little one, I don't know where to begin to list all of your transgressions, as I told you in the Black Castle," he said with gentle sarcasm. "Even if I ignored the business of the 'thimble' – which, by the way, I won't! – the list would take an entire day to recite. So I'll simply sum up: you disobeyed me repeatedly, put up any resistance possible, stuck out your tongue at me, put the whole ship off balance with your crazy antics, did only what you wanted to do without any thought of the consequences, forcing me to intervene for you over and over against my own crewmembers, and – worst of all – you turned my cabin into a battle zone. And I don't need to remind you of the bedlam you caused in the kitchen in the Black Castle – or how you challenged my cook and even threw a chair at him!"

He laid two fingers on her lips as she opened her mouth to protest. "Hush, beauty, I know that you did it to save that little pain-in-the-arse, but nevertheless, you did attack one of my crew." He sighed. "And then you left the galley in a mess, as Cookson reported to me this morning – ergo you disobeyed orders again." He shook his head. "I really don't know where to begin!"

Wendy's head bowed, and she had an awful memory of standing before Miss Fulsom's large wooden desk while her teacher wrote that hateful letter to her father. She was silent a moment before she said: "Esteban warned us, just as I was about to clean up the galley, and ordered us away to your cabin. He knew that the harpies might be there any minute and he wanted us to be safe. And after the attack, we had no time to clean up. We were in hurry to get the cannons to the mountain."

Hook frowned. "Do you think I don't know about that? Really, little crabbiness, give me a little more credit than that. But it doesn't change the fact that I had to stand up for you again. You are causing me losing my reputation!"

A shy smile appeared on her face. "The men will always respect you, Captain Hook. You may call them dogs, but they are completely loyal to you. And," her smile widened a little bit, "I almost believe that they accept me, in a way – seeing as you help me whenever necessary."

Hook snorted, but said nothing to this. He simply went on: "And if I were healthy, Wendy Darling, I would lay you now over my knee – as I threatened inside the mountain, if I ever saw you near it again. Well, you were all TOO near when you attacked that troll with bow and arrow!"

"But if I hadn't returned – against your order – you would have died!" Wendy cried.

"Aye," he said sternly, before he softly added, "and you could have died, too."

His look was intense, and for the first time, it occurred to her how much danger she had blindly run into. Yes, he was right, she could have died up there on the mountain, but she didn't regret anything she'd done. She'd wanted to save him and Peter – and for that, no risk was too great.

Hook was watching her closely. He saw the realization and then, immediately, the setting of her chin and the defiance in her eyes. Of course, he knew that she'd done it for the boy and him, but still she had to learn that she had to obey when an order was given (even if he was more than grateful for her aid). And he knew that it would take a lot more work for her to grasp this.

He bent forward, took her wrists in his hand and hook – careful with the metal claw – and pulled her closer to him. The difference between his fingers, warm from the lingering fever, and the cold steel was noticeable, but it didn't make her nervous. There were other things she had to think about. Of course, she knew she was in deep water, and that he had (for the most part) every right to be irritated with her (in spite of the fact that she'd saved his life.) "What shall I do with you now, my hearty, hmm? You are costing me a very hard-won reputation." The girl looked shyly up at him. "The list is so long that I would have to keelhaul you, if you were a member of the crew." The girl bit her full lips – a sight that almost wrung a groan from him.

"But I am not a member of the crew," she said almost plaintively, and Hook nodded.

"Aye! Lucky for both of us. But after you damaged my belongings, challenged me to a duel when you arrived here in Neverland and then lost, and after I saved your sweet life – several times, you are rightly my … property – if you look at the letter of our law."

"What law?" she asked carefully; already knowing the answer: He meant the law of the pirates.

Hook lifted a brow. "I am certain that I don't have to answer that question, Red-handed Jill. You are very familiar with our … fraternity." She smiled uncertainly and lowered her head. Her look rested a moment on his hand and hook, still gently holding her wrists. The pirate-captain was right. Her life was his now, and even her saving his life and her other assistance didn't offset these points. It only could make him show lenience – again.

And then she got an idea. "But it is also possible to be acquitted, isn't it?" He nodded cautiously, seeing the new spark in her eyes. She was up to something; that he knew. "Well," Wendy started, giving him one of her sweetest smiles. "You yourself said a minute ago that it's lucky for both of us that I am not a member of the crew. Just imagine me here aboard and…"

Hook laughed out aloud. "Devil take us all! You would corrupt my whole crew with those noble points of view! It's already begun – considering the fact that the most feared gunmen of the Caribbean Sea are playing chambermaids this morning!"

The girl blushed, then giggled at the picture forming in her mind. There were Cecco, Billy, Mullins and Mason, clad in black dresses with white pinafores standing daintily in a row and curtseying to the captain, holding trays of tea and a duster. "I can see them now, all in a row with uniforms and lace caps – how sweet!" she laughed, quite unintentionally.

And Hook? He was seeing it also, "You and that imagination of yours!" He simply could not stay irritated with her, and he knew that this would be his downfall one day. But he was helpless against the tender feelings that bubbled up the second he thought of her or she was around him. "You would send the whole ship into chaos –the crew and myself!"

She frowned, but before she could protest she felt his finger again on her lips; his eyes betrayed his amusement. "Sshh, we both know that I am right. One moment you're turning their heads with that smile of yours, and the next you show your claws – just like now." He tried to hold back the affection that washed over him as he saw her pouting. _Why was she so damn adorable!?_ He sighed again; cursing his weakness for her. "God have mercy on the men in London the day you are grown."

Wendy frowned again. "Why?"

He lifted both brows; amazed. "Are you really so unschooled, my dear? Odds bobs, have you no inkling of the effect you have on males?" Her expression made it clear that she indeed had not, and Hook pulled her closer between his knees. "I'm going to let you in on something. Peter isn't the only one affected by you. Other males have eyes in their heads and see an extraordinary girl with a mind of her own. For some this is strange, others will adore you for it."

"Then you share my aunt's opinion that I must be tamed? Sent to a boarding-school?" she asked, shocked.

The buccaneer again saw the fire in the blue depths. He knew that she still had to learn discipline. He admired her strong, hot spirit. "By God, NO! No one will tame you! No, I esteem the one with courage to defy the hoary relics, who has the courage to try something new." He let go of her wrist and held her shoulders. "And everyone has this right – man or woman … or girl!"

"I knew it!" she said triumphantly. "And Aunt Millicent vowed that the only way to be a lady is to always be agreeable, quiet, obedient and shy, to have no interests of her own, know nothing of science, foreign countries, ships, or languages (except French, of course). We must only to talk of fashion, flowers, music and babies!" She accompanied this outburst with a scornfully exaggerated coy, mincing gesture.

Her expression compelled the pirate-captain to laugh in sympathy. He pulled her onto his lap; wanting her close, and to soothe her growing temper. She didn't resist, and he noticed. By all the devils of the sea, he had planned to teach her respect and manners and to punish her for all her many offenses, and what was he doing instead? _Talking_ with her -- about life's problems! God help him; she'd done it again, turning his firmest intentions in ashes! He cleared his throat. "I expect that this mysterious Aunt Millicent shall try to turn you into a lady!?" Wendy nodded, snorting. The pirate-captain smirked for a moment. Well, he was seeing the results of the family-quarrel; no doubt of that.

"While I'm sitting at dinner, or visiting someone for tea, or walking in the park," Wendy continued, "I feel like a horse in a circus act, under a whip. Every gesture, every word, every answer must be the correct one, and it is of no matter what I think, or feel or have to say! If I do as she says, I'm a 'lady,' but if I say what I think, I am instantly a child again, and lectured!" She shook her head so that her hair tossed like the mane of defiant horse, eyes blazing. Hook grinned, which Wendy didn't miss. "Does that amuse you, Captain?"

The buccaneer chuckled aloud. "Yes, to some extent. I always knew that you had a rebellious heart. That I saw it the moment we met. But I'm beginning to see just how rebellious it is."

Wendy bit her bottom lip again. "Is it really so awful, so inappropriate to be honest toward others and yourself, and to loathe those false masks of pretense that you're someone you are certainly not?"

Hook thought a moment about this question. He remembered a young boy – more child than man – who asked his father the same questions. He never thought that he would one day stand in the same position as his father had then, discussing the same lessons with a girl barely old enough to know that men and women were different, a girl who had almost sealed his doom by deceiving him, behaved defiantly toward him, turned his beloved quarters into chaos and had turned his pirate self upside-down like—

No! No, no, no! He would not allow his thoughts to wander that direction again – not with her on his lap! But, he had to admit, she had him once again curled around her tender fingers. And holding her like this – his left arm gently wrapped around her slim waist and the delicious softness of her dress, the right one on the armrest while she simply sat on his lap, discussing what was wrong with the world – helped him feel like a normal man, which was strange and wonderful in one.

He took a deep breath and retorted slowly: "It doesn't behoove ladies to walk their own way, and men need courage to swim against the stream. You must forego a lot – but you also win something that most people lack their entire lives."

"Independence?" Wendy asked, and the buccaneer felt a smile tugging at his mouth.

This intelligence, this animation of mind and this sensibility, coupled with her sweet beauty … it really was no miracle that she captured everyone who crossed her path. "Aye, freedom of choice. But be warned, my pretty. The price is high and the way there can be rigorous and tiresome, with many responsibilities. I know of what I am speaking."

"Rigorous?"

He nodded. "Many obstacles will lie in your way if you dare to march to a different drummer. You will be feared, admired or loathed, you will suffer persecutions because so few people dare to live this way. You will have to fight to stay free – or to build enough reputation until they have no other choice than to accept you the way you are. And it is always attached to loss. Sometimes what you lose weighs more than what you get in the end. Sometimes that life is not your choice – others are choosing it. Such people change the world. But they all pay a high price for it: Loneliness – the shadow of self-determination."

Wendy was silent a moment longer. Hook was talking out of his own experience, no doubt about it. Loneliness was wrapped around him like a cocoon, and he suffered inside it. But also he was the strongest man in mind and body she ever met. She began thoughtfully: "I told my aunt that she could learn from you about real life, that you never hide behind a mask, but stand true to what you are. And I was right. You know more about the real life than she ever will."

Hook looked at her. "You told your aunt about me?" he asked, surprised and touched. He hadn't thought that she would talk about him after her first stay in Neverland.

"Yes," Wendy nodded. "I … After we returned to London and my lessons with Aunt Millicent began, I often thought back on our chat the evening you 'invited' me to dinner aboard. I know that you said many things only to entice me to betray Peter," – ah, this cleverness of hers -- he had no other choice than to adore her! "but there were many points I was compelled to consider. Somehow," she swallowed, "somehow your opinions make more sense to me than hers. They sound more … sincere, more truthful. You face the world and don't hide behind lies and masks. You have courage, where others are cowardly, and--" She stopped suddenly; blushing furiously. _Was she complimenting him? Heavens, even for her taste was this too bold! He was a grown man and she a small girl!_

Hook tried not to gape in surprise. His renown seemed to have grown in her eyes. "And I thought I was 'done for'."

"Well, almost. But thank the Lord my arrow was quicker than that beast!" Then her cheeks reddened further, and laughing softly, he pulled her close to him; ignoring the pain on his chest and side.

"I think that is something your aunt will try to eliminate: your quick tongue."

Wendy said nothing, but started to relax. She was still tired, more than ready to sleep again, and it was comfortable here on his lap and leaning into him was soothing. Then it hit her -- he had revealed something about himself! Wendy rose back into a sitting position and looked up at him. Maybe this was the chance to learn more. "So you had this battle as well?" she asked, and the pirate grimaced.

"Obviously, little one. No one is born a pirate."

There! This was the closest thing to an opening she would ever get. "So you were born into nobility?"

One black brow shot up. "Where would you get that idea, my dear?"

"Well…" she lowered her gaze, "your way of speaking, your knowledge, your grace, your devotion to good form, all this…" she gestured toward the library, "and you admitted on our way to the castle that you attended Eton. And even I know that only nobles are allowed there." She lifted her eyes again. "Who are you?" she almost whispered, looking unblinking into his blue eyes.

"I am James Hook, Captain of the _Jolly Roger_," he said politely as if he would introduce himself to her for the very first time (which was, indeed, true).

Wendy made a face. "Please, but I don't think that's your real name."

"What? James? I can assure you, beauty, that this is indeed my given name."

The girl made a face and sighed. "You once told me that you wanted me to tell your true story. How I am supposed to do this, if I don't know any more than that about you?"

He smirked for a moment. "You know more about me now than anyone else does – except Smee, of course. And you have an excellent imagination. I am certain you can come up with a story now, filling in the gaps."

Wendy took a deep breath. "You don't want to talk about it," she murmured.

"Aye!" His gaze wandered to the library and was caught by the sight of the nick in the bookshelf. "And to come back on the theme we actually wanted to speak of: You still owe me a debt, considering my cabin – and that damn thimble."

The again girl lowered her gaze. "Couldn't you just … forget it?" she asked in a small voice.

"Forget? Pray tell why?"

She looked directly in his eyes: "Because I didn't mess up your cabin intentionally, but as the result of a fight to the death. I was really being very careful with your things before the harpies came aboard! And, as promised, I will put everything back in order."

"You? or my men?" he teased, making her bite that lip again.

"They only helped me with the heavy things. The rest I will do."

"I see," Hook mocked her softly. "And since everything is heavy, there won't be much for you to do."

She shrugged. "There's still a lot to do here." She moistened her lips. "And I will start in as soon as you are better."

"How thoughtful," he taunted, which made her giggle.

"And about the episode with the thimble," she continued, "well, as I already told you it was a misunderstanding between Peter and me at first, and turned then into a kind of private code, I--"

"--you used on purpose!" he finished, sighing. "You know that I will deal with this, but I have thought of a better way to make you pay someday."

She squirmed under his gaze, and he watched her as she almost (but not quite) wrung her hands. He knew her pride was in the way, and it was almost as outsized as his own. "Forget?" he said again softly, one eyebrow raised. "Does your father ever forget that his balance sheets are out of balance? Does the day ever forget the night, forcing it to stay beyond the horizon? Does the pendulum forget to swing back the way it came?" He sat looking at her, and she felt the unfamiliar stiffness in his posture as he awaited her response.

It was at that moment that she looked up into his face again, so close, yet so far away, and it was as if a door opened in her mind, or a light went on in a dark corner, or another star came out to laugh along with all the others. What was it that her father always bragged about? That her mother respected him so greatly. Yes, of course she adored him, and he loved her wholeheartedly. (They were never happier than when they were together, whether going over the week's bills or having tea or playing chess, or just looking in each other's eyes.) But there was a difference between the two of them; she saw it for the very first time. Her mother craved her husband's love. Her father craved his wife's RESPECT.

And so did Captain Hook.

The memories of their times together rushed at her, tumbling together, embarrassing her mightily – chanting him into helplessness, sticking out her tongue, flouncing off and ignoring his requests, "only a pirate" she'd said about him, turning his beloved _sanctum sanctorum_ into a shambles …

She had injured his celebrated male ego more times than she could count.

She hadn't meant to.

_Did that mean everything was alright? NO!_ He had displayed more patience and tolerance with her than her father ever had to, and done it with grace and "good form." He'd saved Peter's life, saved Neverland. Saved HER.

Goodness gracious. She had to do _something_.

Firmly taking his hand, she slid from his lap and stood before him, eye-to-eye. Looking deeply into the man himself, she spoke from her heart. "Dear Captain Hook, I have treated you shabbily, and I do heartily apologize for my rude and unseemly behavior. I beg forgiveness from you, and ask that we might … begin this friendship over again?"

Hook's eyes narrowed, as if he expected her to laugh or dance away like a little sprite. But she didn't. It was very difficult to look at him like this, but she continued to hold his gaze with her own, her expression most serious and sincere.

And then his whole demeanor changed as his body relaxed, his eyes grew merry, and his expression softened. She knew he no longer held the grudge. Her eyes widened when he bent forward to her, until their faces were only inches apart from each other. Then he gave in to the impulse one more time … and gently kissed her cheek, enjoying another stolen moment of her sweet scent and smooth skin.

Wide-eyed, she stared at him. When he'd done this before, it had been in farewell (before they parted in the Mount of No Return) and then it had emerged from the relief he felt when she came to his rescue. But now were no dangers, no good-byes. So why … She met his forget-me-not-blue eyes, in which a strange fire danced momentarily.

"That was only a hint of my revenge, sweet one. And if I ever have the chance to meet you as a young woman, then I will finish this," he said; his voice low, hoarse.

Wendy gaped at him – and straightened, still too innocent to understand what he meant. "Captain, you may not kiss me without my consent!"

She stopped as he guffawed. "And now Miss Crabby is back!" he managed to choke out finally. Still laughing, he looked at her pouting face, and pushed her hair back over her shoulder using his hook. She didn't flinch as the cold steel touched her, he noticed with some appreciation. Finally, he cleared his throat and sat silently, then he said – still amused: "And now, dear heart, I feel well enough to make a short inspection of the ship, the crew and our guests. So continue your work here."

She frowned unhappily. "Today?" she asked quietly, looking back at the cabin, feeling the fatigue of the last week crawling into her bones again.

He chuckled. "Be thankful I don't order you to swab the whole ship! Normally that would be the best way to teach you to treat me with respect and to obey my commands," he retorted dryly. For a moment he imagined those small hands wielding a rough cleaning brush and sanding block, swabbing and smoothing the deck in the heat of the sun. No! He couldn't do that to her. "I meant on normal occasions," he grumbled. He saw her shy smile returning. "Tomorrow then, you'll begin to straighten the mess here in my quarters!"

Relief changed the arrangement of her face, accompanied by that wide shining smile that made his heart beat faster. With a heartfelt "Thank you!" she bent forward and placed a gentle kiss on his freshly shaved cheek; smelling the scent of the shaving cream she was coming to know. She felt him stiffen in surprise, and met his perplexed gaze. Giggling – well, he wasn't the only one who could play this game of surprising acts! – she turned to move away from him, but found herself held back by his hand. "Was that a thimble or a kiss?" he challenged her.

Wendy shook her head. "Oh, Captain! A thimble is a special term between Peter and me; and that was a kiss!"

Hook gave her an odd look. "Don't toy with me, little girl. I already told you that before. Don't toy with the fire you are still too young for."

The girl lifted a brow. "Whatever do you mean?"

Sighing, the pirate-captain let her go – and slapped her on the bottom, which made her squeak. "That was for my cabin. Now go find out what we're having for lunch, crabby! And afterward, you rest and I'll do the inspection."

With flushed cheeks Wendy rubbed her bottom. "Really, Captain, is that any way to treat a lady?"

"Pirate!" he shrugged and grinned.

"Me? Never!"

"Regrettable!" He pointed toward the door. "Tell that ugly excuse for a pastry-cook that I want my lunch."

Suddenly she smirked. "Shall I use your exact words, Captain?"

"If you want to leave the galley alive, I would change them a bit, if I were you," he chuckled, and Wendy laughed.

"Aye aye, Sir!"

She turned away and walked toward the door, the light material of the skirt and the sleeves dancing around her, and for a moment, he could clearly imagine: the grownup Wendy. Heat shot through him and hastily he directed his thoughts in another direction. Still a child, best of friends with the eternal boy and …

Pan! Heavens, he had forgotten about the boy completely. "Wendy?" he called before she could leave. She looked back. "Smee told me that Peter's awake. How is he doing?"

Of course, she'd noticed that he used her friend's first name, and not his last name or an insult. "He still needs time to recover. I don't think that there's a single spot on him that isn't bruised," she said quietly. "But you know him, always the fighter and jokester."

Hook nodded. "Aye! Our little King-of-the-Hill has wit." He sighed. "He didn't let me down, but stayed with me," he murmured – more to himself than the girl. "What about his arm?"

"Thalion put his joint back into place, and it's tied to his side, which he hates."

The buccaneer stared at her – and grimaced. Hell, he knew how that hurt! "I'll look in on him after lunch," he said slowly, and Wendy lifted one brow.

"Don't you think you should get some sleep? You are anything but well yet."

He glared at her. "I am not the type for afternoon naps, child."

"No, but you still have a fever. So you should go to bed and get well." She smiled understandingly at him. "Honest, a good afternoon catnap works miracles!"

Winking at him she left the cabin; giggling as she heard him growling: "And I thought I taught her that I was the one who gave the orders around here." Then his voice rose again. "And where's my towel?"

She stuck her head inside one last time. "Oh, come on, Captain. You have plenty of towels. And when you listen to your doctor and stay in bed until tomorrow, Glawar might allow you to take a bath. And then she'll give your beloved towel back!"

She met his stunned expression, laughed and quickly closed the door.

Realizing he'd been sweetly outmaneuvered once again, Captain James Hook was, for the second time this historical day, lost for words.

TBC…


	41. End of hate

Chapter 40 (at last - hurray)‏

Hello, dear readers,

I do apologize for not ending this story for such a long time. I simply wanted to write down a new idea for 'Pirates of the Caribbean' and didn't find the inspiration to return to 'Battle for Neverland' sooner. Aye, shame on me for making you wait so long, I'm sure that some of you lost hope that the story ever would ever be concluded, and I ask you to forgive me.

You see, quite unexpectedly, I found a very old version of the Peter Pan-book I've been searching for for more than twenty-six years. Because of this, the joyful spirit of the eternal boy, his friends and the magical Neverland returned. And even though I could hardly dare to consider publishing the last chapters, I couldn't stop myself from doing it.

The new chapter starts where the last ended, so maybe you should have a peek at the last one to refresh yourself with the story once again. Even though S'Hadh is defeated, there are still several things that must be sorted out. The Elves haven't left Neverland, Giliath has to heal, pixie Kailen and rose-fairy Aurora have fallen in love (both races are enemies and will have to learn to accept such an unusual pairing), Wendy still has to repair the damage of her fight against the harpies (Hook's quarters are still in a chaotic state) and the pirate-captain hasn't spoken to his former enemy after they both fell off the mountain and were caught by the fairies.

And with that, the next chapter begins: man and boy are coming face to face once again, and must learn how to deal with each other, now that their enmity has vanished.

I hope you will enjoy the chapter. I will love to hear from you all again.

My best for you all,

Lywhn

**40. Chapter – The End of Hate**

Hook took a deep breath as he surveyed the main deck. Most of his men had survived, and those with serious injuries lay safe and well-cared-for on the quarter-deck. There was still damage from the harpies' attack, but he knew the skill and efficiency of Robert Mullins, the carpenter, would deal with that -- as soon as the door to his water closet was finished.

The pirate-captain sighed. It was good to be out under the sky once again, especially as the air was growing warmer, full of sweet spring fragrances, flowers and budding trees. His eyes wandered toward the island and he pursed his lips. It would never cease to amaze him how much Neverland depended on the mood or the condition of its little prince. That Peter was improving could be seen in the blooming appearance of the magical island, but, on the other hand, the shrouded mountains, the cool breezes in the air and overcast proved that the youth was still suffering.

Well, no surprise there. If he remembered correctly, the boy had taken several serious injuries, including wounded feet and – when he could trust his memory – a wound at his leg. And a dislocated shoulder was not pleasant, knowing that from personal experience. And knowing that Peter's last injury was because of his desperate attempt to pull him, James Hook, back to safety was gnawing at the pirate's heart, around which the stone wall was crumbling when it came to the boy.

He rubbed his newly groomed chin. At last, the little pest was well-aided and was tucked in a nice, warm bunk, where he could recover and – even better – unable to play pranks any time soon. Even Peter Pan had his limits, it seemed, and the boy had surely reached them.

Hook's attention was directed to the starboard rail near him, where the shrill voice of the pixie was heard, accompanied by the soft jingling of a fairy. The buccaneer lifted a brow when he saw the two tiny creatures sitting there; one little greenish arm was draped around the small white shoulder of the rose-fairy, who had laid her head at the pixie's shoulder, while they watched the sparkling trails the fairies left in the treetops of Neverland.

'_Spring-time!'_ he thought with an amused sneer. _'Not long now, and the birds will go all mad with their chirping. Deer, rabbits, antelopes and all the other beasties will have their heads turned, even the wolves.'_ His gaze travelled along the rail, and found the older Darling brother, and he frowned a bit. John was at the rail, too, staring dreamily to the east of Neverland, where the tents of the Indians were. Hook knew exactly whom the boy was thinking about, and snorted. _'One more love-struck fool!'_

He grimaced as the wounds on his back and upper arm itched under their bandages. He nodded politely to Thalion, who sat with some of his men at the upper middle-deck and went to the companionway. It was time to have a closer look at his – former! – nemesis, even if he didn't know what to say to the youth. The boy had refused to leave him, had helped him to walk, even though injured, and had clung to him, as they had fallen to certain doom. Or so they'd thought as they both toppled through the air, downward to their death. Alright, the fairies caught them, but Hook knew what the boy was doing. Peter hadn't known that his tiny friends were on their way to save them. He'd lost all hope, but would not let him, Hook, die alone. And to realize that the boy was ready to die for him ... made him uneasy.

Yes, they were allies, but an ally did not offer his life in suicide to prove fealty. And Peter had learned that death wasn't an 'awfully big adventure,' but a final end. Nevertheless the boy was prepared to face it bravely, at his side, and when Hook remembered the tear-stained face straining with pain and effort, a part of him understood that this little, stubborn, overbold, disrespectful ,and sometimes wicked pain-in-the-ass _prankster _cared for him.

A lot.

And he was not sure how to react to it.

He reached the cabin where the boy lay and entered. Sunlight quite deliberately sought him out, and fell through the half open window onto the pale face of Peter Pan. The pirate paused to listen deep inside of himself, but the blazing hatred was absent. Even the ever-lingering anger, previously awakened by only a single thought of the boy, was gone. All that remained was a wary waiting and another emotion he hadn't felt for anyone, except that wild-kitten, when she was upset or in tears.

And that affection unnerved him the most. He shut the door behind him and pursed his lips.

The boy looked much smaller in the big bunk, covered by blankets and wrapped up in clean bandages, and Hook was forcefully reminded that Peter was, first of all, a child – someone a grown-up should protect and not hunt. The pirate grimaced. Yes, he had protected this youth many times that last day. Even during the last stand.

The captain examined Peter. He was fast asleep, but the eyes behind his closed lids were active, his brows creased in a frown, his feverish cheeks damp and a low moan escaped his dry lips, while he thrashed and jerked from time to time.

Nightmares were one consequence of an evil experience, and even Peter Pan wasn't immune from them. Of course, the child's mind was full of the events of the last days, and they were not pleasant ones. Hook watched the boy, taking in the many bandages, the bruises on his temple, the split lips, the ashen skin and the sweaty sandy curls. No, Pan was not in a good state, and as a quiet sob rose in the youth's throat, the man walked over to him, bent down and laid his hand on the hot forehead before he even knew what he was doing.

"Sh-sh, calm down, Peter. Everything is fine. You're safe now. Sh-sh, little brat, no reason to fret anymore!"

He stopped himself, sighing. Alas, had he truly comforted this churl? When he woke up beside Wendy, terrified even in her sleep, he could explain to himself that it was simply "good form" to calm a fearful female, but to do the same for this troublemaker was nearly too much. _Nearly,_ because the relaxing features of the child brought a small smile to his face. He was unused to the incredible fact that he was able to comfort someone, instead of frighten them. But it felt … good, in its own special way.

The chime sounded softly, and he finally noticed the little golden ball on the pillow. Tinker Bell, still dirty and torn, lifted her small head, blinked up to him … and winked at him before she laid her head on her arms and closed her large eyes again. Her glittering wings jerked one more time, then they relaxed, and it was clear as the sun in the morning that she was again asleep. Hook lifted both brows. Well, that was interesting! The tiny creature, who became a lioness as soon as he came near her dear Peter, seemed to trust him enough now to go to sleep while he bent over the boy.

_By all demons of the Seven Seas, what changes had those deadly events brought to all of them?_

Feeling suddenly tired again, Hook turned and sat down in the chair by the table. He was in no mood to return to his own cabin. _Hell, a fine pirate he was! _For the moment, he wanted to think about the drastic changes in his feelings and behaviour toward Peter Pan, and the boy's unusual showing of emotions and protectiveness toward him. And so he leaned back, watching the youth's sleep (not noticing that he behaved just like a father) and fell into his whirling thoughts.

**************************************

Peter slept the whole afternoon until the sun went slowly down to the horizon. He stirred in his slumber and groaned, as he shifted on his right side. The sharp pain from his shoulder – and especially from his leg – pierced his dreams, and grimacing, he opened his eyes. His sight was blurred at first, then gradually cleared: the small cabin, the cabin, ceiling and floor, the table and the chair in which …

Peter raised his head when he saw the tall figure sitting there, watching him. The last rays of the sun bathed the curly mane in a red-gold shimmer and gave the pale face an almost healthy complexion. The beard was gone and the well-trimmed moustache and goatee was back. The forget-me-not-blue eyes were framed by dark circles, but their gaze was clear, and fixed the boy.

"Finally awake?" Hook's voice was deeper than usual and hoarse. And he straightened his body slowly and carefully.

Peter blinked several times, noticing that he didn't go rigid by the mere sight of the scoundrel; then his memories kicked in. And with them came the explanation as to why the presence of the man didn't send him darting into the air, but calmed him. Hook had been his ally, fought at his side, risked his own life to save him (not once but several times) and they both had been saved by Tinker Bell's friends in the end.

They had shared much together. And as the saying went, _a minute of danger can bring you closer then ten years of friendship._

No! James Hook was no longer his mortal enemy. He was in new territory, where the Scourge of the Seven Seas had become a comrade, a friend-in-arms against a common enemy. And his 'friend' still awaited an answer, as he could tell by the tapping fingers on the arm of the chair.

"No, not really," the youth grinned crookedly, and the buccaneer frowned.

"Well, at least you're able to do more than groan," Hook retorted. "You look like a shipwreck."

Peter sighed. He had heard those words too often. "Well, look in the mirror, Hooky. You don't look so shiny new yourself." He yawned, rubbing a hand over his swollen eyelids, missing Hook's glare.

"Remind me to refuse the next time I think about helping you out," the pirate sneered.

A snicker escaped the dry lips of the boy. "Well, you saved your ship, and that meant that you had to protect my back." Tinker-Bell stirred in her slumber and tinkled something in her own fairy-language. Peter smiled. "And she calls ME grumpy when I get up early!"

Hook snorted. "Another thing in common. Our storyteller just called me that as well."

A spark returned to the bloodshot eyes of the boy. "Must be true then." He shifted and moaned. "By the screech of a pixie, I feel like a mountain rolled over me."

Hook's eyes showed a reluctant sympathy for his former nemesis. "Oh, you were not just in a mountain's way, m'boy. There were also trolls, goblins, harpies and a wizard with a fiery dislike of you that almost sent you straight to hell." Amusement flickered over his pale features. "You really have a talent for pissing off powerful men."

"Like you?" The ghost of that grin flitted across his face, and Hook was – almost – relieved to see it again.

"Like me," he admitted, and rose to sit at the edge of the bunk. He looked the boy over, and grimaced when he touched the hot forehead. "That was close, Peter," he said, frowning. "Only a hair's breadth between you and death."

The crystal blue eyes, still red from exhaustion and fever, narrowed a little bit. "But this time you tried to keep me safe. Thank you." He sighed. "This is so strange, aye?"

"Aye," the buccaneer nodded; his expression unreadable. "Like you refusing to let me fall behind? – or hanging on to me as we both go over a cliff?" He shook his head; amazement in his eyes. And the questions haunting him for the last few hours finally came out: "Why, Peter? Why did you reach back when the lava came? Why would you give yourself to pull me back to safety, with no chance of success? Why would you face certain death rather then let me fall?"

Peters face was flushed by now and he looked away. "Coo, Hook, do I have a holy glow around me?" he grumbled – remembering the phrase from one of his visits in Kensington Garden.

"You're anything but an angel," the pirate-captain mocked, "but, no surprise, I am glad you're not." Seeing the uncomprehending look of the boy, he added slowly: "It would mean you were gone."

"And you don't want me dead. Not anymore," the youth said smugly.

Hook sighed heavily and grimaced, "No, I must have lost my mind, but I don't want you dead anymore."

Peter's grin broadened. "Of course not!" The blue eyes fixed him anew and he explained with his typical arrogance, "You don't want to lose the best that ever was!"

A loud groan escaped the pirate while he rubbed his temple. " Lord ,have mercy on me. Patched up like an old pair of trousers, barely able to move and feverish as the plague, but still able to jump on my last nerve." He stared at the laughing child and pursed his lips. "You know, if you weren't bandaged like a mummy, having just saved me from a horrible death, I would surely lay you over my knee."

Peter only laughed harder; seeing right through the man, that empty threats were an attempt to deal with the fact that his hate was gone. Then he moaned and fumbled with the bandage that fixed his right arm firmly to his body. "Ouch! It even hurts to laugh!" he pouted.

Hook felt the now-familiar urge to smile. He was still surprised when a moment later the smile had found its way to his mouth. "Lie still, boy. You got your arm jerked out of its joint and it will take awhile to mend, not to mention the rest of your injuries from the last few days."

A chime came from Tink as she sat up. Of course she couldn't sleep since the two were talking, so she had listened. And neither seemed to have heard her comment. She looked closer and saw the concern in the forget-me-not-blue depths of the man. And the face of her Peter looked shocked.

Peter eyed his former enemy in disbelief, seeing the worry. "You do care," he whispered bewildered. "You … you really do care, not only for Wendy but for me, too."

"Don't be stupid, Pan," the pirate-captain scoffed, while his body went rigid. "You saved my life, I saved your life, we kicked someone's arse together, and now you're on my ship and therefore my responsibility, until you're back to your usual infuriating self. That's all."

But the youth smiled, laying his free hand on the man's right arm – next to the now-harmless metal claw that would have easily gutted him only a week ago. "Don't lie to me, old man," he said softly, "I can see right through you."

The pirate frowned. "Brat, I can still spank you for all you've done."

"Aye, you could but you won't," Peter answered.

And again, the cockiness and the self-confidence that could have accompanied those words ... were missing. For that moment, he could see the vulnerable child in his former foe, and the hidden desire for someone strong to hold and to take care of him. Impulsively, he covered the boy's small hand with his own and squeezed it gently. "Aye, I won't." He cleared his throat and replaced his sour expression. "Bad form to spank a half-dead child."

Peter chuckled. "That's why." The pirate's left eyebrow rose. "Why I couldn't let you fall behind," the boy continued, "why I tried to pull you back over the edge. You were my ally. You … helped me when I was injured. You stayed with me when everything seemed lost. You almost died to protect me." He took a deep breath. "I couldn't lose you. You've grown on me … sort of, I think." He looked away, obviously embarrassed by feelings he'd never noticed before their adventure. He now saw the good in this man. The black-hearted villain, the ice-blooded pirate who had hunted him for a very long time, had a warm place in that black heart which had surfaced repeatedly in the past few days. Which he, Peter Pan, never needed, surely.

And so this eternal youth had to confront feelings; affection not only for a grown-up, but for Hook, a man who represented everything Peter loathed, who a had sworn vendetta against him, but who became a secure rock in a wild sea when given the chance. Maybe _that_ was the reason Wendy showed kindness and understanding toward his former enemy.

"So it seems," murmured Hook, after several seconds of stunned silence.

His remark snapped Peter out of the incredulous haze he was in. Blushing, he set his chin in defiance. "I only meant that Neverland would get really boring if you were gone, so –"

To his horror, the buccaneer started to laugh, instead of growing angry. "And now I can see right through you, boy, but feel free to deny whatever you want."

Peter scowled. "I'm not denying anything. The only reason was that all the fun would be gone if you were!"

"You should have thought of that when you and our little friend tried to chant me to death." The man raised his index finger and said more sternly: "Remember, Pan, I not one to be toyed with—"

"But you're such fun to play with," the youth smirked, and Hook's eyes narrowed, but no irritation arose in him.

"Be careful how you write the scene to that play, boy. The characters sometimes have a mind of their own!"

Peter smirked. "That's the spirit, Hooky!" He laid his head back and sighed, then grimaced.

Hook saw it. "How bad is it?"

Peter shrugged – and gritted his teeth as his shoulder complained loudly (Tink winced in sympathy). "As bad as you might think, Hooky, if you dangled Smee over the rudder hanging off your hook!"

The smiled at the description. "No wonder, boy, I am heavier than you."

"Yes, being a grownup has its inconveniences!"

"And back to that theme," Hook grinned. "Ah, Pan, grow up."

"Who, ME? Never!" Pride lingered in his tone and the buccaneer nodded.

"Thought so." He rose. "Stay in bed, Peter, and get better. You look like a ghost."

"Well, I wish I felt like one. I can't walk on this leg, even if I wanted to, not to mention my feet."

The brow went up this time. "Your leg?" He had vague memories of the boy hobbling. He bent over Peter and lifted his blanket. Instantly the boy started to protest. "Hey, it's cold and … and I'm not wearing anything!" he complained, curling into a ball.

The pirate rolled his eyes. "Don't be a sissy, Pan! You're not a little girl, and neither am I." The boy's feet and one calf were bandaged. "What happened?"

Peter looked up at him, still upset that the man saw him naked. "Forget already, Hooky? And you say I'm the one with the bad memory!"

"I wasn't there as long as you, so spare me your cleverness and tell me what happened."

"S'Hadh," came the blunt answer. "S'Hadh happened. That lightning he shoots from his fingers, they grazed you and gave me this, and they do ... really ... hurt."

"He… he used that on you?" The pirate's brows knitted in a frown as he tucked the blanket carefully around the shivering boy. "When?"

"When you came. I was on the edge of the inner crater, almost over it and…"

"Why didn't he kill you then? With that weapon, it would have been easy."

Peter's gaze fell, and his expression grew haunted. "He… he was trying to get me to throw myself into the volcano." He heard the man and the fairy gasp, and looked up. "It really hurt," he whispered; captured by the painful memories so fresh in his mind, "it hurt so much I thought I'd go mad if he struck me one more time. I begged him to stop … but then came you and ... saved the day."

Hook saw that the wizard had tortured the child, to force him to end his own life. Bad form! The coward! Even as he, James Hook, who had tried everything to kill the boy, would NEVER force an enemy into such a position. Yes, when enraged, he had imagined doing the most horrible things possible to the flying brat before tearing out his throat, but he knew in his heart he could never have tormented him in such a despicable manner. He would have given him a quick death. Horrible, yes, but quick.

Hook straightened, eyebrow raised. "If you were that ... damaged, how were you able to walk? And then carry me, as well?"

Peter shrugged a little more carefully. "I had to. I mean, I had to be strong, or you would have been killed by the la …" He stopped and blushed. "I mean, a few piddling lightning bolts will never stop Peter Pan."

The buccaneer sighed, "Insolent youth, the strongest man would be defeated by such injuries."

"I'm no man!" came the expected reply and Hook shook his head.

"That pride of yours is ... amazing."

The boy gave him a cocky smirk. "After all, I am --"

"-- the best there ever was. I know," sighed the captain of the Jolly Roger, as Peter started to laugh.

"See? You said it yourself."

"Don't push me, Peter," he warned, but felt the unfamiliar amusement rising in him anew. Brimstone and gall, not only the sweet crabbiness was able to make him laugh, but this infuriating little two-legged pest could do it, too_. Well, James, that's it. You've lost all sense of respectability! _He turned to leave. "Rest, boy. Dinner will be ready soon, and your gang will likely join you."

"Captain?"

Suspect of the courtesy in the boy's tone, he glanced back. "Yes?"

The boy drew his covers to his chin and for a moment, he looked exactly like what he was: a sick, vulnerable and needy child. In a tone that was almost plaintive, he asked, "Will you keep your promise?"

Hook frowned. "What promise?"

The boy sighed and grumbled something about "forgetful", but then decided maintain his courteous demeanour, and play nice. "To take me out for a day at sea."

Tinker Bell's eyes grew large as miniature saucers when she saw the genuine smile spread over the buccaneer's face. "A day at sea, aye, I remember, boy. And I will keep that promise. As soon as you're back to your annoying self, we hoist anchor." He opened the door and glanced back one more time. "And Peter?" The blue-green eyes looked up expectantly. Hook took a deep breath: "Thanks for staying." And: "Even if you are the most stubborn thing in the world."

The youth smiled. "You're welcome, James."

From formal, polite 'captain' to the daring use of his given name in the same minute! Typical Pan! – he left the small cabin and a tired Peter, who felt at peace and truly safe, at last.

****************

The evening passed, and so the following night as the pirates and their 'guests' recovered. Wendy slept in her own little cabin with Glawar (Hook had insisted that the ladies have privacy, chasing away the two regular inhabitants, who really wanted to sleep in their own hammocks for once), the Elves happily slumbered outside on deck as the night stayed warm and full of bright stars, the sprites napped anywhere they felt like it, the boys snored quietly in the hammocks they had gotten from the sailors, and the captain slept peacefully in his own large bed.

The next morning, Neverland had returned to its normal fantastical appearance. The ice-fields remained only on the highest mountains. The forests were green again, the flowers bloomed as if trying to make up for lost time, birds were singing and darting about, laughing in the sunshine, the Neverbird screeched over the lagoon, the mermaids sang and danced in the waves. The golden traces of the fairies could be seen under every leaf, and the awakening waves gently rocked the mighty galleon and leaped high against the cliffs.

And, as always, on the first really warm day after the Neverland winter, the ship was humming with activity. Mullins, Cecco and Jukes were in the sails even before the sun was up, checking lines. They were done by the time the others woke and started their own daily routine. Cookson was whistling in his galley – a sound awful enough to force the Klabautermann to cover his ears, but guaranteeing a tasty repast later. Smee was assisting Hook with his morning toilet. Glawar changed everyone's bandages. Wendy was completely motherly, demanding that every single boy was washed, displaying his clean hands, face and neck.

Peter, still weary but restless from his long confinement in bed, finally attempted rising. After three false starts, he managed gain his feet, sore as they were. Several very colourful expressions exploded from him, as his feet and leg explained eloquently that they were not yet healed. Tinker Bell, not the most polite person in any world, scolded him, but he ignored her as he tottered toward the chair. Someone had left a long shirt there for him. It seemed awfully far away, but finally he reached his the chair, and, with Tink's help, slipped into the smooth cotton (his right arm remained bandaged to his side). The 'nightgown' reached below his knees and Tink rolled up the left sleeve to free Peter's hand. The golden fairy pursed her full lips. Her hero had never looked smaller or more forlorn than he did just now.

Peter saw Tink shaking her head in pity, and turned to the mirror on the wall. He didn't recognize the face. It reminded him of some of the Lost Boys when they first made their way to Neverland, after a short cruel life. His curls were plastered with dirt, his face pale. Someone had taken the time to clean his face of blood and soot. Dark shadows underlined his eyes, his cheeks were still feverish, and he could see the many bandages.

He straightened and tried to strut. "Here I am, the warrior coming home from war, proud and successful – with my lady waiting for me," but he failed miserably. Strutting was out of the question when you were walking on knives. Then in a moment, he was dizzy, his body weighed a ton, and the bunk was very inviting once again. Tinker Bell watched all of that, and gestured to the bed, but the youth shook slowly his head. "No, Tink, there's something I have to do." And this something had nothing to do with the lady or with his friends, but with an all too natural need.

Setting one foot before the other and gritting his teeth, he fixed his gaze on the door of the water closet. He had to make it and … and the room was spinning. He promptly lost balance and fell with a cry of frustration. The impact with the floor re-awoke the pain in his shoulder and leg, and he choked back a sob. That blasted magician had finally been sent to a well deserved end, but he, Peter Pan, was still unable to fly – or to walk, it seemed. He balled his hands into fists and tried to get up, but it couldn't. He hurt too much, and tears welled up in his eyes, without the strength to push himself into a sitting position. He cried out in frustration.

Tink flew up to give him a soft kiss, but he waved her away. He hated being helpless – yes, something else he shared with the pirate-captain – and needing to call for help injured his enormous pride. His little friend jingled a suggestion, and he nodded. If she could get some help from Thalion or Glawar, then he might not lose face. The Elves would never make fun of him.

Tinker Bell darted out the window and up to the deck, but there was no Elf in sight. No healthy Elf, that is, because Giliath and the other wounded lay in the morning sun and dozed. No help here.

Where were the others? Hearing the melodic voices of the ancient race, she flew over to the rail and propped her tiny hands in her hips, seeing Thalion and his men bathing in the sea; splashing and laughing like children in their normal manner. Elves love to joke and have a fine sense for humour and even play games on each other. And, as Tink realized with a grin, the sight of the alabaster white, athletic, beautifully formed bodies was enough to hold even the mermaids at bay, watching the Elves with huge adoring eyes (which amused the Elves greatly. It is quite normal for most females to fall head over heels for an Elf.) The fairy sighed. Well, there would be no help from them any time soon. So Tink sought out Glawar and found her in the captain's cabin, where she had just changed his bandages, after which Smee put on his shirt and then in his waistcoat.

Hook's head came around as Tinker Bell flew through the open windows, bowed in his direction and raced to the Lady, who listened carefully. Then the eyes of the healer widened. "He fell? He LEFT HIS BED?" She shook her head. "Why can't he listen for once?"

The fairy shrugged and said something that even the pirate-captain understood: "Because he is Peter Pan."

Hook exchanged a quick look with his boatswain. "What's the matter with the boy?"

Tink cleared her throat and showed him her back. Peter would banish her forever if Hook, of all men, would learn of his vulnerability.

Glawar grimaced and answered instead of Tink. "He rose and tried to leave the cabin, but ended in a heap on the floor, if I understand my little sister here correctly." The golden fairy spread her little hands and stared at the ceiling in irritation. This is EXACTLY what she had tried to prevent!

Hook cursed under his breath, jerked his head at Smee, signalling him to make the bed, and then strode out of the cabin, Glawar and Tinker Bell on his heels. He passed several of his men, who greeted him politely, ignored the laughter of the Elves in the sea, passed down the companionway and into the small cabin. But before he could touch the door handle, Tink was dancing about before his eyes, gesturing wildly for him to go away. He scowled at the little imp, but this was no time to worry about the boy's bruised pride. If that pint-sized churl had remained in bed, he might have avoided the humiliation. Hook waved Tink away – which earned him a cacophony of harsh jingling – and entered the cabin, Glawar following. He was startled by the miserable bundle on the floor, teary and shivering. His anger evaporated.

"Sink me, boy, what kind of a mess did you get yourself into this time??" he sighed, closed the distance to the startled child and knelt beside him.

Peter's head jerked up and he pressed his lips together and furiously blinked his tears away, smearing the tears on his cheeks. "I'm no mess, Hook. I only want to…"

"… to examine the pattern of the wood on the floor, of course," the buccaneer sneered and shook his head.

The boy shot the fairy a glare. "Why did you tell HIM?" he asked hotly, but before Tink could respond, Glawar cut in. "She sought out me first, and the Captain overheard her." She moved closer. "And, Peter, there is no shame in asking for help, especially from one who has saved you before – and whom you saved."

Chin quivering, Peter looked away. "Still I don't want…"

"Really, Pan, is it so difficult to behave just once?" the irritated pirate snapped and a dark expression appeared on the youth's pale face.

"I did behave, but even I have… have to …" He stopped, as Hook carefully turned him around, slid the blunt side of his iron claw beneath his knees, wrapped his other arm around the boy's back and lifted him off the floor; ignoring his own wounds. "I can walk!" came the instant protest.

"Of course you can. And a fine job you're doing, Pan," the man scoffed and placed him back on the bunk. He took the covers and spread them over the lad once again.

"I don't want --" Peter started anew, but when Hook shot him another dark look, he shut his mouth.

"First, m'boy, you can't walk. Second, you're still to weak to play the hero, after what you've done the few last days. And third if you really want to leave this bed any time soon, listen to this fine lady here and perhaps you will regain your strength in time to rise for dinner."

Peter's face lit up. "Dinner?"

The buccaneer shook his head, seeing once again how much a child the brave, stubborn mischievous churl was. "Dinner! But first behave yourself, understood?"

Pouting, the boy pursed his lips; cheeks reddening. "But I have to… you know?"

"Allow me to bring you a chamber pot," Hook grumbled and turned, as the boy murmured:

"One more favour?"

Hook sighed and turned again. "What favour?" he asked carefully; knowing the youth too well. But Peter wasn't in the mood for a joke and his question took the pirate by surprise. "Can… can you order me a bath?"

Thunderstruck the man stared at him. "A… a BATH?"

Peter smiled sheepishly. "I smell like that rank volcano, I'm stiff with sweat and I itch all over. What do you think?"

Hook looked at him aghast, then he blinked several times. "Pan asks me for a bath." He addressed Glawar, who wore the most amused expression possible. "Did someone hit him too hard?"

She laughed like church bells – a sound so pure and beautiful that even the sea-gulls were silent for a moment. "No, Captain, but even the most playful child enjoys being clean from time to time." She smiled at Peter, who pouted again. "The bath will have to wait until your wounds are closed, but I'll help you wash." She lifted a delicate hand, as the boy opened his mouth to protest. "Don't fret, little hero, a healer does this all the time. Even our finest warriors must co-operate with me."

Hook grinned as the boy turned pink all over. "At least he has the sense to feel embarrassment. This is truly a day for my journal."

Peter lay back. "Go and take care that those men of yours, or they're liable to sink the ship," the youth grumbled and stuck his tongue out at him

Hook frowned. "It's not MY fault that you hurt. I'm not the one making you grumpy."

"I am never grumpy!"

"You certainly are."

"Am not!"

"Are!"

"NOT!"

"You're – just like me in the morning!"

"Admitting something is the first step to correcting it," came the childish female voice from the entrance, and Hook glanced over to see Wendy at the threshold. Their eyes met and she gave him one of her shining smiles. "Good morning, Captain."

"Morning, little one. Sleep well?" he asked without thinking, then bit his tongue. He really must start behaving like a pirate again.

She curtsied and glanced at his clothes: blue shirt, blue breeches, light blue waistcoat and black boots, shined once again. To her relief, he looked healthier. "Yes, thank you. I trust the same for you?"

"Can't say otherwise." He looked back at Peter. "But I don't think our pigheaded urchin here can say the same."

"Your morning moods are not unknown to me," she giggled. She moved to Peter's side. She wore the Elvish dress again and her hair was damp from the washing, but she was simply … captivating, as always. The ghostly pallor had left her skin. That was a good sign, he thought as a spasm of soft joy spread through his being before he put on his usual mask. Alas, he had to stop acting like a love-sick school-boy whenever she was around, or he would have no respect anymore. He cleared his throat.

"You do remember what you promised for today, do you?" he asked more severely than intended.

She looked at him wide-eyed. "Of course, Captain. I'll begin immediately after breakfast."

Hook pursed his lips. "And how do you expect to be finished by sundown, if you start so late?"

She raised her chin. "My problem, not yours, kind sir. I have my ways." A tint of pride colored her voice. Ah, there was strength in her, but it reminded him that his crew had done most of the job up until now.

"Yes, your own way – ordering my men around," he grumbled.

Laughing, she shook her head. "No, no men – only sprites."

"I thought so," he moaned and left the two of them after a last glance at the boy. This _was_ going to be a very interesting day!

****************

And he was right. He inspected the ship, talked to Giliath – he truly was relieved that the Elf had survived, and was recovering – and had a rather decent lunch in the shade on the upper deck. After this, he wanted to retire to his cabin to do paperwork and sneak in a short nap. But as he neared the door, he could hear the voice of the girl, scolding.

"Bumblyn, I know you caught a cold, but really, stop pretending your head is about to fall off!"

"But I'm cold!" the perpetually hungry creature whined, "and my sneezer is stuffed and … and my stomach is suffering, and …"

"Then go back to bed! Kailen, please, stop ogling Aurora and concentrate what you're doing. We will never finish by evening if you two keep flirting with one another!"

Something thunked on the wooden floor, and the girl sighed. "Ah, pray that Hook doesn't see that, Senor Esteban."

"Ah, _bella_, it is only the globe and it has fallen many times before."

The pirate's brows went up. _His globe? Just what was going on?!_

"Be careful with that bucket and don't splash the … oh NO!"

A shrill screech was heard, and one of the Hobgoblin's endless curses, ending with the words: "And now Bumblyn is doused and dripping and will come down with his death."

The squeaky laughter of the pixie was heard, calling: "Unlucky for Bumblyn being splashed with soapy water! And lucky for him not being seen by the captain!"

Hook straightened. Well, he was not about to sacrifice his remaining furniture and carpets. He yanked the door open and came face to face with Wendy.

"Uh, um, hello, Captain. Might I get you something?" she asked with a too-bright smile, while she held the door partially closed, effectively blocking his view. Her hair was bound in a tie at the back of her head, and she wore a sort of apron over the Elvish leggings and the shirt she had confiscated from him tied at her waist, as well as his stockings he'd given her at the Black Castle. He frowned.

"No, m'dear, I'd like to do my paperwork and…" He soon realized that she was gently but firmly pushing him out.

"That's not wise at the moment, Captain. You see, we're not done yet, and we'd only disturb you as you worked. And, after all, you still have to convalesce, so why not enjoy the beautiful air outside? Sit down, let Smee get you a glass of wine, and savour the peace?"

Hook stared at her flushed and smudged face, fully aware of her intent. "Do you have something to tell me, beauty?" he asked slowly. His blue eyes radiated his distrust.

She cheerfully shook her head, making her ponytail bounce adorably, and dared to lay one small hand on his left shoulder. "Nothing to tell, nothing to show, only trying to get the job done and to return your quarters to you, as promised. So no peeking, Captain, remain out here, and let me finish my work." With one last cheery smile, an almost flirtatious batting of her eyelashes, "Thank you! Good-bye!" she closed the door in his face and locked it.

His jaw dropped as he stood outside the door. Had he really been locked out of his own cabin? This… this was… _unacceptable_! He lifted a fist to beat on the door, but then heard her voice again. "All right, that was close. And now, please, I beg the three of you, behave, help me and let's get everything back in order! Senor Esteban? I could really use your help as well. Let's not upset the captain further. He's certainly been through enough in the last few days and needs us to do the job right."

Her intention for his well-being touched the pirate once again, and so he listened instead of breaking the door down, as had been his intention a moment ago. At first, there was silence, then Bumblyn answered: "Wendy-Lady, we will labor with love in the --ATCHOO!"

"God bless you!" came the response, and then the noises resumed, proving that Wendy was indeed fulfilling her promise.

Hook let his fist sink and turned to leave. Sometimes it was good not to know everything -- like how they made sausages -- and perhaps it was all for the best that he couldn't see what was going on inside his quarters. "Beware, little crabbiness. If I find one trace of dust, then you're going to learn how it feels when I lay someone over my knee." He descended the steep stairs and joined Thalion and the other Elves. A decent talk with these warriors was the only option he was really interested in at the moment.

*****************

As evening approached, Peter felt better than he had since the day he was found by Hook in the snowstorm. He still ached all over, but he had slept well, had had a good lunch. After that, he'd talked and laughed with his friends, had again napped. He was now eager to leave the bed. Glawar had doctored him with the Elvish medicine and it really was a relief as the strange salve cooled the burns. He could tell they were healing when she removed the old bandages.

He was languidly stretching, testing his range of motion, when a sudden 'pop' left a little man, dressed like a pirate, sitting on the edge of his bed. The pleasant and unfamiliar smell of some excellent tobacco filled the room from the pipe the sprite held. After firbolgs and alrinachs, redcaps and harpies, the boy was simply curious. The character did not look dangerous, and he looked him up and down, and finally cocked his head. "Who are you?"

The creature grinned, not unpleasantly. "Someone that most sailors fear and appreciate in one." He motioned to the hammer hanging from his belt. "If my mood is good, I check the ship and fix what I can; if my mood is bad the crew gets problems. And when the ship is in danger, my appearance warns the men and the captain – if he listens."

Peter scratched his head (it had been pure bliss when Glawar had helped him wash his hair, removing those remains of his latest adventures). "I heard about you. Wendy told me yesterday. You're the ship's ghost."

"I prefer 'ship's sprite' or Klabautermann." The mystical creature propped himself on an elbow and examined the boy that had given the master of this ship so much trouble. Yes, he had seen him every time he showed up on the Jolly Roger, but this was the first time he was able to take a close look at the youth. He concluded that it was no mystery that female hearts lay open when the Prince of Neverland came around. Even beaten up and clad in a man's shirt, bruised and groggy, the boy was delightfully winning and handsome, and when he gave the sprite one of his famous grins, Esteban found himself smirking back.

"What can I do for you, Master Klabautermann?" Peter asked politely, for he was accustomed to meeting the magical inhabitants of Neverland with respect.

"Call me Esteban," the nyxx answered and smoked his pipe. "I only want to look at you, seeing that you are rescuer of the ship's captain I am loyal to."

The boy shrugged and winced. That shoulder! "Why is everyone making such a fuss about it? He saved me, I saved him, end of story."

Esteban chuckled. "Or the beginning of another," he said mysteriously and rose. "Your sweet little lady-friend will be glad to see you at dinner."

Peter's eyebrows rose. "Where IS Wendy? I haven't seen her since morning."

The nyxx grumbled softly. "She kept her promise to make it up to Blue-Eyes and put his quarters back in order. Quite a commanding task, truly, but I do appreciate strong people, even if it is a lass."

" 'Blue-Eyes'?" Peter blinked, then realized that the Klabautermann was speaking of Hook and laughed out loud. "Blue-Eyes! Well, that's a name I can use!"

The blue-green eyes of the sprite widened. "Now boy, you won't let him know 'twas I who used it, will you?"

A sparkling gaze nailed him. "Hook doesn't know you call him this?" As the nyxx shook his head, a mischievous gleam shone in Peter's eyes. "Well, then you should brace yourself -- or help me out of this miserable bed."

The sprite leaped up. "You … you're blackmailing me?" he stuttered shocked.

The face of the boy was pure innocence. "Of course not. Only asking you for help."

Esteban clamped the pipe between his teeth and frowned, mumbling, and offered the youth a hand, and Peter swung his legs off the bed. The boy rose and steadied himself with the nyxx's help. And then, from one moment to the next, the sprite was gone – and Peter had to grab for support on the nightstand. "I helped you get out of the bed, now you keep your word, boy!" the invisible voice came to him, accompanied by a deep chuckle.

The boy frowned, then snickered. That was a prank he could have played, too. "Well done, Esteban, Hook will not learn that you call him 'Blue-Eyes' from me!"

"I t'ink t'at would be best," grumbled Smee; standing at the entrance and watching Peter. With a yelp Peter whirled about – and fell back against the mattress. The grizzled Irishman giggled at the boy's dark glare; so like that of his commander, when hiding his feelings behind a grim mask. "Come on, lad, time for dinner. Wendy's done wit' her work, Cookson has done made us an excellent meal. Some of t'e Elves'll join us, and I t'ink the friend of your fairy and 'er little green trouble-maker have somet'ing t'ey want t' tell us."

Peter's curiosity was full awake now. "What is it? Where's Tink?" During the afternoon, the star-fairy had vanished, and he found he missed her company.

Smee shoved his spectacles back up his nose. "Don't know what t'e two love-birds are going to tell us, lad, but 'tis sure to be important. T'e girl acts like it's Christmas' eve, t'e hobgoblin is grinning like a Cheshire. Your fairy is sittin' t'understruck on Hook's desk, making a 'orrible face. So it mus' be somet'ing important." He closed the distance to Peter and pulled something out of the towel he carried with him. Peter's eyes grew large as he recognized his old leaf trousers, as well as the wide stripe of greenery that held the unique item of clothing in place. "T'ought you might need dis," he said with a good-natured smile.

Peter beamed at him. "Yes!" he exclaimed, holding them up. "They … they're no longer torn and… and they're clean?" Stunned, he glanced up to the old man, who rubbed his grey beard.

"Allus's duds were needed of a good scrub, so I washed yours, too. T'e rest was done by your sparkly little friend. She even fetched new leaves from t'e forests an' replaced t'em, afore t'e news of Aurora froze her to t'e spot."

The boy looked as if he'd just been given a wonderful present. "Tink! You're an angel!"

Smee chuckled. "Put 'em on, boy. T'alion will be here soon to carry you up to Hook's quarters."

Peter's forehead wrinkled. "He… he wants to _carry_ me?"

"You're in no shape for climbing stairs, little master. Consider this: if such a strong warrior as Giliath has to be carried from the mountains to the ship, then I think you must not shrink from receiving the same favor." The warm voice of the Elvish commander, who'd just arrived, soothed the boy's temper and he sighed deeply.

"Hallo, Thalion. How are you and Giliath doing?"

The Elf lifted one delicate brow. "Giliath is on his way to recovery, and I am fine. Thank you for asking." He pointed to the trousers. "Would you like some assistance?"

Peter blushed and shook his sandy locks. "No no no, no help needed, thanks." And then he pictured himself trying to slip into clothes with only one arm. He sighed. "I'm starting to see the trouble Hook has every morning."

He didn't see the Irishman and the Elf exchange a look of joy and relief. Yes, the ancient hatred between pirate and eternal boy had come to an end – and a new story was about to begin.

TBC…

___________________________________________________________________

AN: Ah, yes, it is obviously what the two little sprites have to tell, but believe me, it will bring some chaos to everyone. And what will become of Bumblyn, the Elves and so on? Wendy has still to learn how to swim, as well as John, and how will Peter and Hook get along after the great danger is defeated?

So there are several things to tell.

I'm keeping on,

Hope, you liked the update,

Kind regards

Lywhn


	42. The victory of love

_Dear Readers,_

_I am so, so sorry that it took so long to finally continue and end the story. After this chapter, two remain and an epilogue, and please do not fear that it is going to take months until they'll come out. They are completely written and my very dear friend Cheetah is beta-reading them in the moment. So I can promise that the story will swiftly continue until its end within the next weeks._

_I do hope that some of you will read the last chapters and I would be so happy to receive some last reviews._

_Have fun,_

_Love,_

_Lywhn_

**41. Chapter – The victory of love**

The white handkerchief was slowly dragged across the shelf, then lifted to a sceptical inspection. Then two white-gloved fingers glided over the desktop. The forget-me-not-blue eyes searched for the slightest trace of dust, but there was none. His gaze wandered over the carpets – all clean; the table – now set for dinner; then over the glass frames – where an amazed star-fairy sat on the sill and stared wide-eyed at her friend, the rose-fairy Aurora.

Hook narrowed his eyes and turned his focus to the reason for all the upset in his quarters. Wendy wore still the leather leggings the Elves had altered for her, his shirt, his stockings and, over this hodgepodge, an apron. Her face was smeared, several curls had escaped her ponytail and framed her sweet features very nicely. Her dove-blue eyes sparkled as she looked on him expectantly.

"Well?" she asked after a long silence, and the pirate lifted a dark brow.

"It appears you were successful with your spring-cleaning," he answered solemnly, then grimaced, as the voices of Wendy's magical friends started to cheer. He looked at the pixie and the rose-fairy (who were dancing around, holding each other's hands), Tinkerbell (who'd finally woke up) grinned, and the Hobgoblin (cheering and dancing on the stairs, soon suffered a coughing-fit).

Wendy beamed, but drew up as Hook's stern face was suddenly mere inches away from her. "Now, little one, I want to know why you locked me out of my own quarters!"

Still wide-eyed, she cocked her head. "We weren't finished yet! I wouldn't want you to see the chaos a woman creates in a good spring-cleaning."

"Of course not," the buccaneer sneered, tapping on her cute snub nose. "And now the truth, my beauty!"

Her eyes grew even larger. "But…"

"You know what I do to liars, don't you?" It was a warning; something she would never ignore, knowing Captain James Hook as she did.

She sighed, but before she could answer, Bumblyn spoke up for her, somewhat hoarse from his cough. "Twas my fault," he reported timorously, ears lowered and tail wrapped around his little frame, now in the center of the pirate's glare.

The captain harrumphed. "I should have expected this." His voice dripped with mockery.

Bumblyn grimaced and gripped his own tail, nearly tipping himself over. "Bumblyn bumped into the bucket, t'is all."

The pirate gaped -- that was all? He searched his carpets for further signs of the creature's clumsiness, but found none.

Wendy cleared her throat. "The carpet is dry now," she said primly, smoothing her apron and straightening her shoulders. "So, speak the truth, are you pleased with the results?"

'_Demanding little wench,'_ he thought and snorted, but again a smile threatened as he surveyed his quarters one more time. The water closet door had been repaired (Mullins was a master with wood), the carpets were pristine, the walls as well, his cabinet was polished (the glass sparkled in the candle-light - most of the bottles were replaced), the book-shelves were back in order, and even the bed linens were changed. _Zounds, she'd been busy_.

"You kept your word," he said thoughtfully; the humiliating moment when she shut his own door in his own face still on his mind. "But if you shut my door in my face again …"

"I know: I'm going over your knee," she responded cheerfully, laying a sweet little hand on his arm. "But you have to admit this is a good thing, for now you'll never remember how dreadful it looked."

His jaw dropped and, with a giggle, she skipped away. "Allow me to make my excuses, Sir. I must change for dinner." She bounced out of the door with a toss of that capable hand; the Hobgoblin on her heels, still coughing.

Hook was thunderstruck – no apology??? Hell's bells, she had _locked him out of his own quarters!_ (a fact he was certain had already made its rounds to the entire crew) and now she tells him it was for his own good? Ha! It was only a matter of time until that spanking was delivered!

'_Of course! And t'en ye'll be dryin' her tears, hold'n' 'er on yer lap and comfortin' her until she's smilin' again – ye big bad pirate!'_ taunted that inner voice and Hook growled, "Oh – shut up!" The heads of both fairies and the pixie turned toward him, and he groaned, "Not you, you…" He waved his hand, and poured himself a drink. Where was that familiar old dread pirate when he needed him the most?

And why oh why were so many plates set on the table? He didn't remember inviting anyone to dinner, but the table said otherwise. Seven dinner plates and four saucers told him of the party expected. And the unusual size of the small four ones were obviously for the two fairies, the pixie and the Hobgoblin.

He sighed. Why him?

*******************

Peter beamed from one ear to the other as Thalion bore him out on deck to the full view of his beloved Neverland for the first time after he and Hook fell of the 'Mount of No Return' (that was now called 'Mount of Not-No-Return' from that time on – a name only a child could feel comfortable with). His saw the forests blooming again, the glimmering waters falling over the high ochre and rust-coloured cliffs into the calm, crystal sea, the snow-covered mountaintops and the wide, inviting shores toward the south. The sun sank slowly in the west and transformed the azure blue into white, pink and yellow, while in the east the very first stars blinked. And only the eternal boy could hear them speaking as they greeted him and whispered healing messages.

The Elvish commander cleared his throat. "Better now?" he asked softly and exchanged a quick look with Glawar, who smiled at first at the joyful child and then at him. Thalion felt his cheeks reddening as he almost lost himself in her deep, wise, animated eyes. She smiled warmly, laying a hand on his shoulder. She understood how he felt about her. Every glance, every timbre in his tone, every blush spoke volumes, and had for some time now. It was unusual that a mighty warrior, who had lived through his second thousand birthday, would feel such attraction for a young Elf like her. And she felt a little light-headed by the fact that she won someone so strong, eminent and loving as Thalion.

Peter tore his eyes from his island, seeing how the two Elves seemed to have forgotten everything around them. Even the pirates were jabbing each other. Warrior and healer only had eyes for each other, Thalion's expression dreamy, and Glawar's features betraying her hope and affection for the warrior. The youth grinned.

"I heard this is normal in the spring." They both looked at him, and his grin grew broader. "You know the signs – rosy cheeks, gazing into each other's eyes, heart palpitations, goofy expressions on your face," he explained.

Thalion's eyebrow curved higher. "Such as you and Wendy?" he teased, and it was Peter's turn to redden, while nearby, Billy Jukes smirked broadly and shook his head.

Glawar giggled at Peter and ruffled his hair – he ducked, but without success. "Are you talking before you think again?" she chuckled and Peter bit his tongue so he wouldn't stick it out at her. After all, she was a lady.

"Quite normal for him," a voice said lightly, and both Elves and the eternal boy turned to Wendy who had just emerged from the lower deck. She'd washed, pulled up her hair with a ribbon, was again wearing the Elvish dress, completing the image of the young lady she was becoming.

Thalion bowed from the waist, while Peter stared wide-eyed – and Glawar laughed again. "How typical – all males forget how to talk when a pretty face crosses their paths."

Wendy joined her giggles. "Even the villain of Neverland has the same problem!"

**************

The 'villain of Neverland' was not the only one staring incredulously at the tiny couple that stood on his table, eating appetizer (some ham with melon) and announcing (again) their news to those who hadn't yet heard. The two Elves could only shake their heads while Peter gaped, speechless, (quite a rarity), Smee clucked his tongue and cleaned his spectacles (as he always did when he didn't know what to do with his hands), Short Tom croaked softly and Hook sat there with dropped yaw – the fifth time on this remarkable day.

"_Marriage_?"

It was Peter who finally broke the silence, and Aurora nodded happily, while Kailen wrapped one arm around her and smiled blissfully. "For her hand, I asked her," he piped, staring down at the rose-fairy, who snuggled closer to him. "And granting she did my require." Aurora jingled, and her fiancé added: "And invited to the marriage all of you are!" He looked at the two pirates. "For you the same it is."

Hook frowned. Of course, he knew about the age-old enmity between fairies and pixies, and he'd assumed that the friendship was temporary, but it seems he was wrong. Again. Even if the pesky insects and the green troublemakers returned to their old loathing now that S'Hadh was defeated, it would not affect these two. Incredible as it seemed, they'd seen past the old enmity and become comrades-in-arms. Somewhere along the way, they had looked past the old prejudices and found something that many search for their whole life: a true friendship, respect and affection. It started with necessity, the mother of invention, then changed to acceptance, then grew into understanding and developed into true love.

The buccaneer sighed as he looked over at the boy, laughing and joking with the happy couple. He had to admit, something similar had happened to both of them. They'd been forced to work together, had developed sides at the other one, no-one had anticipated before, and now they met on a level of acceptance and delicate understanding. Yes, there was always a part of him that respected his young foe (a very very small part, the brat was courageous, after all) and he had come to care for the boy, but he completely rejected the option of actually 'liking' him. _'So,'_ he mused, '_I'm not completely out of my mind, not like those two tiny fools. Alas, what will their queen and king have to say?'_

He snorted, dismissing the question. And why should he be concerned? It was not his problem. Not yet, anyway.

But another look at the happy betrothed and their congratulatory companions (who had stolen Peter's ham without the boy's realization), and he gave in. Well, it certainly was an historical day, when two so different creatures as a pixie and a fairy announced their impending nuptials. Almost as historical as he and Peter Pan at the same table in his own cabin, enjoying a real dinner together.

Wendy was relaxing in her chair, sipping the sweet Neverland juices from her goblet. Over the rim and under her dark lashes, she found the thoughtful face of the pirate-captain, his thoughts obvious to her in the blue-depths beneath the half closed lids. Hook tried so hard to maintain his grim mask, but she could read the joy quietly bubbling there, that he hid so well.

Smee cleared his throat. In his Irish past, he'd learned a smidge about how to handle the Little People, and that it was wise to treat them with respect. He removed his cap, and bowed. "Congratulations!" he grumbled with a grin – and the others followed his example, even Hook, the Scourge of the Seven Seas, who tilted his head and wished the tiny couple the very best of lives. It was, after all, Good Form.

It was Bumblyn, who gave the signal for the chaos to come: "Marriages are for making merry! So much to munch, to imbibe and mark for celebration!" He jumped on the table, and raised his goblet high. "Drinks for everyone!"

"Cheers!" the ugly parrot croaked, shook his bare head.

Here was a familiar order, and Smee – always dutiful – scuffled to the door. "Wine, rum and muscatel – coming up!"

Hook frowned. "Mr. Smee, I am still the captain of this ship, and I will be the one to order--"

"Aw, come on, Hooky! Aurora and Kailen have declared a marriage, and risked their lives for you, too," Peter grinned at the mocking glare of the buccaneer.

"Well, as you wish, boy. But don't whine like a lovesick mermaid when you're suffering from your hangover."

"I NEVER whine!" the boy growled.

Hook barked a laugh. "We'll see." He nodded toward Smee, missing the disrespectful tongue the boy stuck out at him, and leaned back in his chair. "Fetch the bottles, Smee, and order Cookson to serve us the next course." He raised his hand to the protests of Thalion and Wendy. "We will need a good base, if our shining hero wishes to celebrate."

Wendy only shook her head – that didn't sound right – and glanced at Peter, who only smiled, crossed his arms and winked at her. It felt so good to be finally out of bed and baiting the pirate once again.

Smee returned several minutes later; Cookson and two helpers accompanied him, bearing the main course. In the meantime Wendy, unsuccessfully, tried to talk Peter out of this 'stupidest challenge he ever accepted'. The boy, of course, would never back down from such a provocation as the pirate-captain had given. "This is only a celebration for Aurora and Kailen," he finally said sternly, which earned him a snicker from Hook, who could see an easy victory coming.

"It's not the only reason to celebrate, boy. I am congratulating myself for seeing you spotless for once." His sharp eyes had scanned the lad. Clad in his usual leaf-trousers, tousled but shining hair, multiple bruises and healing scratches here and there, he looked almost normal, but no dirt. Hook smirked. "How many tubs of water did you have to use, Milady, to remove the layers from the rascal's hide?"

Glawar chuckled, glancing at the blushing boy. "No more than Mr. Smee used for you, Captain. After all, you both returned like two ruffians who'd spent the day fighting on the playground."

Two jaws dropped, and guffaws erupted from the rest of the dinner party. Peter recovered first. "At least, I didn't need a shave! Hook looked like a free-roaming sheep in the spring –a BLACK sheep -- ready for shearing."

"Looking a bit sheepish yourself, m'boy, have a look into a mirror," the buccaneer snapped, eyeing the fluffy golden curls.

"Words, words, words," the boy sighed, then warily when Hook smiled suddenly, not his usual crocodile smile, but almost cheerfully.

"Time to put your money where your mouth is, Pan." He filled Peter's goblet and offered it to the youth, who took it without hesitation.

"Captain," Thalion began, but the buccaneer shook his head.

"I'm not the scoundrel as everyone thinks. 'Tis only wine." He nodded to the boy, and lifted his own goblet. "Cheers, Master Pan – a toast for our newly engaged couple over there."

Peter grinned and drank. It tasted … strange, but not as awful as he had been led to believe. He smacked his lips thoughtfully. Just the opposite. Sweet, with a bite. After a few sips, he liked it very much. And because he was concentrating on his goblet, he missed the half amused, half gleeful expression on the pirate.

"This really makes a party." Peter flashed his famous cocky grin, eyes sparkling, when he emptied his glass and set it back on the table. "Got another one?"

Hook frowned, anger prickling anew deep inside of the pirate. "And what might I offer you to drink now, Pan? Strong alcohol is nothing for little children."

The youth rolled his eyes. "The little ones are down with the others, so don't fret--"

"I spoke of you, m'boy."

"No really so little," he said smugly.

The buccaneer whistled. "Just look at you. First Master Pan learns the difference between a 'thimble' and a 'kiss'," Wendy and Peter both blushed at this, "then he admits that he's no longer a small boy but an adolescent pain-in-the-neck. And just this morning he asks me for a bath. This, my young former foe, sounds like reason enough to allow you to taste the drink made for strong men."

Senor Esteban, who shared the captain's table for the first time while visible, chuckled. "But then you must share it with him."

The pirate shrugged. "Indeed. After all, we have shared many things." His lowered glance wandered briefly to Wendy, who was glaring at Peter – who pointedly ignored her.

"I'm on, Hooky!" the leader of the Lost Boys exclaimed. The commander of the _Jolly Roger_ pursed his lips. "As you wish, Peter." He filled the boy's goblet with muscatel, making the two Elves gasp and Bumblyn frown.

"Too strong!" he peeped and Wendy nodded fiercely.

Peter grimaced. "How would I know, if I don't try it?"

The nyxx laughed at Hook's expectant expression. A little drunk himself, he spoke without thinking: "Just look what you started, Blue-eyes!," he grinned – and clapped his hands over his mouth. He hadn't used that name out loud, had he? One look at the grim features told him otherwise. He smiled uneasily, and took his goblet. With a beaming "Uh, cheers all around!" he emptied his drink.

Hook groaned at the name the sprout had given him, as Wendy and Glawar broke into laughter, while Peter responded cheerfully: "You are the one who let it slip, Esteban, and I kept my word: I haven't called the codfish here by that name, but you did!"

The pirate shot him a poisonous glare, closed his eyes and counted to ten before opening them again. "What did you call me?" he asked the nyxx slowly, who grinned guiltily at him, but remained out of reach.

"Why? Does not the name fit, Blue-eyes?" After all, the nick-name wasn't a secret anymore, so he resolved to use it.

And as the captain's face slowly turned red, Peter and Wendy burst into laughter, the two fairies jangled loudly, Bumblyn and Kailen screeched with laughter and even Smee chuckled into his beard. Thalion sipped slowly from his wine, keeping his face behind his goblet. This would turn into a very interesting evening – and a difficult morning.

* * *

It turned out Thalion was right. The news of the engagement had spread to the whole ship, and the crew used it as another good reason to celebrate (and their well-wishing soon changed into the rough humour those men were famous for). The Lost Boys and the other Elves who had stayed in the common-room joined the pirates in their celebrating and found their way up to the captain's quarters to congratulate Aurora and Kailen.

And so it came to pass that the ship's lanterns sent their yellow glow into the darkness, even as the moon stood high above the island and the creatures on the enchanted land found sleep. A pair of rabbits grazed their way to the edge of the shore, wondered at the lights glimmering across the gentle swells, then romped back into the forest. Soon the mournful singing of the buccaneers died away, the chattering in Hook's quarters grew quieter, and the blanket of silence hung over the _Jolly Roger_, pierced only by the variety of snores of those aboard.

Glawar and Thalion, still awake, sat together, surveying the cabin. The proud, dangerous commander had fallen asleep at the table, head on his arms. Beside him lay a snoring Hobgoblin who had eaten so much he was unable to move. The nyxx had made himself comfortable on the desk, head pillowed on some rolled charts, grumbling in his drunken stupor. Smee was leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his pot belly and grinning in his sleep. The tiny couple, the reason for the party, lay on a sill, snuggled in each other's arms, bathed in the preternatural Neverland moonlight. Tinkerbell was rolled into a napkin on another sill. The Lost Boys lay asleep wherever they happened to be at the moment (the tiniest one curled on the ottoman, the rest on the floor). Peter and Wendy had dozed off in their chairs, too, Wendy's head on Peter's shoulder, and his head resting on hers. The whole table was a shambles, and the smell of a good meal still hung in the air, the scent of alcohol under it all.

Thalion sighed. It seemed that it was up to him to tuck in the two children – again! With Glawar's aid, he got them both into the large four-poster, under the new sheets. Wendy murmured in her sleep and moved toward the warmth of the boy. Both Elves smiled as the boy reacted to her presence, even in sleep, and spooned around her back, while Glawar pulled the blanket up to their necks. Thalion murmured, "This is certainly the most tender first love I've ever seen," he whispered in the Elvish tongue, and Giliath's sister smiled back.

"They are still children and know only a fraction of love's power. But it will surely be interesting to see what comes of it."

The warrior lifted one brow, aware of her talent for piercing the fog of the future. "What do you see?"

A wry smile twinkled around her eyes. "The images of the future are only dancing pictures, but, I think, both have much to learn, and it will not be without pain and misunderstanding." She looked down at Peter. "He will stay as a boy, but she will grow, the common problem when someone doesn't age."

Thalion took a deep breath. "You mean, a problem when someone cannot grow old, but the other one does." An uncertain gleam showed in his eyes. "Luckily, such is not relevant in our case."

She glanced up and blushed as she saw his significant gaze. "Thalion…"

"Please, lady," he took a deep breath, "allow me to court you," he blurted, finally screwing up the courage to voice his dearest wish. "Yes, you are younger than I, but such is irrelevant in matters of the heart, when love grows too large, too powerful to be ignored. My heart only started when I first met you." He lowered his glance. "Yes, we only have as long as the Master gives us, but…" He fell silent as her finger touched his lips. Unsure, (a rarity in someone of his experience) he lifted his eyes to hers, and what he saw took his breath away. She was smiling, warmly, lovingly, and suddenly he knew exactly what Peter felt like when he played in the clouds.

"I would be honored to be courted by you," she whispered, heart beating so fast it was hard to breathe. It was even harder when he took her hand and pressed his lips to her open palm. "You've made me the happiest I've ever been in my entire life," he murmured – and whirled around when he heard a giggle.

It was Bumblyn, who understood enough of their language to figure out what was going on. "Such iss shpring!" he slurred. "Luuuv iss in th'air…" With that he rolled into a ball, wrapped his tail around himself and instantly fell asleep again.

Thalion grinned, then opened two of the mulled-glass windows, allowing the sweet flower-laden breeze to enter the cabin. He returned to the center of his heart, and gallantly held out his elbow to her. "May I escort you to your room, Milady?"

She courtsied and took his arm. "Yes, thank you, Milord!"

They left the captain's quarters without a sound, and even the stars could not see them. Thalion bid her good night and stole a shy kiss from her, before she closed the door to her own little cabin.

*****************

As the sun ascended, sending its healing and warmth to the beleaguered land, the gulls were screeching in the air and the dolphins danced with the waves. The dwarves, pixies and fairies went about their normal affairs, and the animals of Neverland shook off the bitter winter, now only a bad memory, crept and flew and swam and reproduced. Two Elven friends sat together on deck, enjoying the shade of a couple of sails cleverly arranged overhead.

Thalion told his friend of the dinner celebration the night before. Giliath laughed heartily at his friend's report of the guests' antics. So, Peter and Hook had challenged each other to a duel. And the chosen weapon was alcohol! Well, hardly a fair fight, but at least they weren't at each other's throats! And a hangover might bring down the boy's ego a peg or two.

Giliath was growing stronger by the hour, his nascent healing-powers working properly once again, and the nasty flesh wound purple now, but closed. His sister insisted he get more rest than usual (which he was grateful for), but he was obviously doing better. Then he spotted Glawar out on deck, and he again saw the glow in her eyes when she looked at Thalion.

And then the most amazing thing occurred. His friend leaped to her side, smiled tenderly and offered her his hand. She greeted him with a smile, and came and sat with them. Giliath gazed on, disbelieving. "You finally asked!"

Thalion smiled like the happy courtier he was. "Do I have your permission, _mellon nin_?" he asked and Giliath snorted.

"She is the older one of us. As if she would listen to what I said!"

"Ah, now my little brother admits I do have the final say." She smiled impishly, much like a certain ageless boy, and it took all the self-control Thalion could muster not to kiss her then and there.

"Just let her believe it and leave me in peace!" Her brother smirked and shifted his weight, grimacing. By all the falling leaves of autumn, but he still FELT like ground mutton! But neither his sister nor his friend seemed to notice. Lost in each other's eyes, they simply sat together and forgot about the world around them. Giliath cleared his throat. "So when is the wedding?"

"As soon as possible," Thalion answered absent-mindedly; his glance only upon Glawar – the light of his life.

Giliath pointedly cleared his throat. "I was asking about Aurora and Kailen, remember, the engagement you celebrated last night?" his friend teased.

"Who?" Thalion asked, not listening. Giliath began to laugh, drawing the couple slowly from their adoration. "This is going to sweep the land when we return home," he smiled and shifted again. Then loud cursing was heard from aft, as only a sailor could produce.

"It seems the captain's awake!" Thalion remarked, and Glawar responded with a subtle giggle. "This will be a difficult day for all of them."

******************

Everything has a price. Have you ever heard the old saying, tell me where you sleep and I'll tell you what you are? This thought passed fleetingly through a certain dark, curly head as he asked himself, does waking at a table make you a fool? or a drunkard? This bitter idea was followed by a low groan, quickly followed by a painful moan, and finally, a string of colorful oaths that echoed across the water, driving a brilliant flock of paradisias into the sky.

Hook lifted his head, slowly looking about – no! -- this _couldn't_ be he his quarters! It was a dump! – and finally straightened into a sitting position, only to be greeted by a distinct throbbing behind his eyes and across the small of his back. Hooded, blood-shot eyes winced into the golden morning, blinked broadly until his gaze cleared.

Leftovers and dirty dishes littered the table. Beside him, a small figure moved in its sleep and mumbled, before it went perfectly silent again: Bumblyn. The low, sawing noises to his left turned out to be Smee. Three tiny creatures lay sprawled under the morning sun. On his desk, a snoring Klabautermann sleeping off his hangover, hand dangling over the pipe on the floor and hammer nowhere to be seen.

Hook rubbed his face – what HAPPENED last night? – and looked toward his bed, its smooth sheets and the soft cushions singing their invitation. So, it was daylight, his quarters screamed for a valet, and by the sounds on deck, the crew was busy, but right now, he didn't care. On the third try he managed to regain his feet and stumbled over to the four-poster – only to find two slumbering children lying there; peacefully spooned against each other. Again, the pirate grimaced, and glanced toward the ottoman, where he only now saw the smallest of Pan's gang. The rest of them lay scattered about on the floor, finding corners, blankets, soft spots on the carpet. Well, at least he wouldn't be the only one having difficulty waking up.

Too tired to try and call Smee, he managed to slide the boots from his feet, slipped out of his frock-coat, unscrewed the metal claw from its wooden cuff, dropped the weapon belt from around his waist, and then dropped himself beside Peter in the bed; a corner of his mouth raised as the boy mumbled something under his breath. He would wonder about this later, after he woke up – and this bloody-mother-of-all hangovers was reduced to a manageable level.

But fate was unkind, because, as while drifting asleep, he shifted against the boy's injured shoulder and Peter came immediately awake with the sudden pain. Grumbling, he sat up, which also roused the weary Wendy. She pulled the covers higher, mumbling "Be quiet for once and let me sleep!"

"He pushed me!" Peter protested, and with these words, the headache came roaring to his attention. With a moan that could inspire pity in a stone, he carefully dropped his head into his hands, stomach burning, chills dancing through his limbs. The cabin seemed to whirl around him and the worst taste imaginable was in his mouth. He grimaced, twisting his face into an expression of distaste.

"What's it, boy?" Hook grumbled, opening his eye a slit. The sight of the youth really was something to melt the hardest heart.

Peter raised his head, showing watery, red eyes, pale and miserable. "Please, kill me?" he asked hoarsely and the pirate smiled grimly.

"I always yearned to hear those words from you, especially in that tone," he chuckled, "but regrettably, it's out of the question."

Peter moaned pitifully again, and pulled his knees up to lay his forehead on them, but was stopped by his recovering wounds. He took a shuddering breath, "This is all your fault, old man!" he lamented.

"Shut up, brat, or I'll gut you from nose to navel!" Hook's voice was loaded with his own pain. A hangover was extraordinarily unpleasant, and to his surprise, part of him sympathized with the boy.

"Can't hear you, codfish", the youth retorted, accompanied by a pathetic whimper.

Before the pirate could answer, Wendy snapped: "Could you both be silent for more than two minutes?"

Two sets of bloodshot eyes turned toward the girl. The males pressed their lips shut and rolled their eyes. There was no one there to tell them so, but you would have sworn they were related to each other. Hook recovered first. "Choose, Miss Crabbiness: behave yourself or sleep in the bilge."

"So much for Good Form," came the mumbled answer, then Wendy, turning away, sighed and was asleep again within seconds.

Both males looked at each other again. "Girls!" both sighed, lay down again and surrendered again to Morpheus, while a hungover pixie, a chuckling nyxx and a grumbling Hobgoblin closed their eyes again as well.

* * *

It was early afternoon before Hook found the strength to leave the bed. He called Smee, chased the magical creatures out of his quarters (the boys were nowhere to be seen) and smirked at a groggy Peter Pan. "A great celebration, don't you think, boy?"

Pan grimaced and snuggled further down into the covers. "Didn't I ask you not to poison me anymore?" he groaned; feeling not the slightest bit better. "First that nasty business when Tink nearly died, then you fill me up with that mixture of rum and water, and now --"

"This time I only did as you asked, and celebrated the engagement of a troublemaker and a pesky insect." He looked at Wendy, who sat up sleepily. "About time, little one. You still have work to do," he gestured to the chaos in his quarters.

She frowned. "I'm happy to help, but not every time you --"

"Ignore him," the boy yawed and stretched himself carefully, discovering that his stomach decided to shift to upside-down, and Peter clutched it. As he caught Hook's glance, he straightened his body again, forcing a grin. "You know how ill-tempered he is when waking up," he said to Wendy, then smirked at the buccaneer's look of disgust, and asked: "Where are the others?"

"Where they belong: out of here," Hook answered shortly and lifted one brow. "Isn't it time to go, Pan? After all, you have your own bed."

"You know I can't walk just now," Peter murmured and the captain rolled his eyes.

"You surely have a way of taking advantages wherever you happen to find them." He screwed his hook back into the cuff. "When are you leaving the ship?"

"Eager to see me go?" The boy almost sounded hurt – almost!

"I thought, as the 'Prince of Neverland' you have your own 'duties'," the buccaneer scoffed. "But perhaps I overrated how important you are truly really."

"Much more than you on this pile of water-soaked planks!" Peter retorted and Wendy sighed dramatically.

"So quickly back to your old habits. I thought you'd learned better than that." She slipped out of the bed and wrinkled her nose as she saw the condition of her pretty dress.

Peter had followed her glance. "Don't worry, Wendy, your clothes are still at the hide-out." He caught the quick glance of his former enemy and added: "It looks like Hooky still wants to know where it is – even though we're 'allies' now."

"Don't push it, boy. I still have a few bones to pick with you."

"Hm … chicken soup sounds good to me right now" his stomach made a strange noise "or perhaps for dinner later on." He lay against the headboard, drew the covers to his chin and closed his eyes with a contented sigh. "Until then, I have work to do on the mattress."

Hook stared down at him. This little URCHIN… "I'll get Thalion to take you down to your bunk."

Peter even didn't open his eyes, murmuring, "Don't bother. This bed is fine." And with that he simply drifted back to sleep.

Hook blurted out a new profanity, caught the scolding glance of Wendy and snapped: "What? I'm a pirate!"

"I find it interesting how quickly you switch from gentleman to pirate, depending which one suits your purposes!" Lifting her skirt (and her little nose) she went to the door and the captain blinked in surprise. "Where are you going?"

She glanced back over her shoulder, "To look after the boys and Giliath, and then have a decent morning-toilette – even if it is long after midday." The door closed behind her before he could respond, and rolling his eyes yet again, he looked at the bed partially filled by Peter (fast asleep), the disgusting remains on the table (in no condition you can tell about) and then at the shambles about his cabin (showing the remains of yesterday's party). He swore under his breath. And once again: why him?

*****************

But Peter and Hook weren't the only ones suffering from last night's indulgences. Kailen knew that he'd never felt worse, Tinkerbell was certain her head grown twice the size, Aurora was still tipsy, Bumblyn unable to mutter one clear word on top of the hoarse throat and too much rum, and Senor Esteban just got sick when he tried to smoke his own pipe (he'd found it on the floor before he left the captain's cabin).

The other boys were enjoying the self-induced misery of the adults around them. They had drunk only sips of the wine (the smallest one had only taken water) and after a good night's sleep they were relentlessly teasing the others, together with the Elves. Even Giliath, who spared himself any kind of stress, grinned as he watched the drowsy pirate-crew, trying to return to the ship's routine – of course, without success.

And so it was Thalion who took the responsibility upon himself. He ordered several of his men to accompany him, and with great effort, some of the buccaneers were able to make one of the longboats ready. Food was running short, and the Elves took their bows and went hunting. Slightly, John and Curly accompanied them, promising Wendy to fetch her summer-dress from the hideout. They skimmed the shoreline, showed Thalion where the best area for hunting was, then went ashore.

But the Elvish commander not only wanted to restock food, but to check on the portal that led back to the Elves' world. Yes, it worked just as well as when Glawar came to Neverland, the dark wizard's magic hadn't affected the invisible barrier between the island of eternal childhood and the foreign lands of the Elven race. But being a soldier, Thalion felt the need to have a closer look at the place where the frontiers between the two worlds was thin enough to allow someone to pass.

John dearly hoped to meet some people of Tiger Lily's tribe – maybe even the pretty Indian princess – but to his disappointment not one of the copper-skinned warriors was spotted.

Slightly and Curly looked into other situations which Peter administered for the island, so that they could report to Peter later. The earth all about them was still macerated from the melted snow, and much of the undergrowth hadn't survived the icy grip of the unnatural winter and the rivers were too high, filled by the snowmelt from the mountains. But life had returned to Neverland.

The three boys met gnomes on their way; watched as they grumpily shovelled dirt and muck out of their homes in tree-roots and underground-holes. Fairies were eager to help the flowers bloom again and seemed to be a little bit nervous. Then the children passed a part on their path toward the Nevertree that belonged to the pixies, and with great interest they saw that the little green molesters were strangely more erratic as usual. They waved at them, but were otherwise busy. Here and there tiny carpets hung out of tree-knots, where diligent hands were doing their spring-cleaning; others carried leaves and flowers with them (in places you could hear the scolding of a fairy, describing exactly which tender petals to pluck), and often it seemed as if music filled the air. The pixies had started to make ready for the marriage. The news had reached the island with the speed of thought, and Niam (the fairy-queen) and Laird Gaghd (the leader of the pixies) weren't pleased about it. But one thing the wise Lady and the mischievous Lord of troublemakers knew: nothing, not even the age-old conflict, could stop true love. Also, they both hoped that this unusual marriage would put several problems of the past behind them all.

But the mystical beings of Neverland were not the only ones keeping busy. Rabbits built up new burrows, birds patched their nests, the wolves dug new dens and from somewhere the Neverbird was calling to the skies with its strangely beautiful and nearly human voice, greeting the afternoon sky.

Back at the hideout, Curly, Slightly and John dug through the dead leaves and mud blocking the entrance, and found that nothing untoward had changed inside. Up until then, the boys had joked and played with each other as they discovered old/new things on the way to the hideout. Now, they looked about themselves, tongues still and hearts beating strangely. Beside the cold oven were the remaining furs, leftovers of those Wendy had used to sew them warm clothes, the used dishes from their last breakfast (before they wandered to the Indian village) still piled on the table. The little curtain over Tinkerbell's alcove hung askew over the small entrance – exactly, as she had left it. A family of raccoons had made a nest inside the furs, and the floor was strewn with shells and bones.

Now you, dear reader, know what it is like to return home after a long time, a time filled with strange events – good and bad ones. You see the familiar surroundings, the well-known furniture, your favourite mug, the clothes hanging in the closet, but it all seems strange to you. And this is how the three boys felt, facing their home in Neverland, as if they'd only walked out an hour ago. Slowly they moved forward, examining corners, picking up a shirt here, a stool there. And gradually the conversation and the laughter returned.

They checked the 'house' at the roots of the Nevertree, greeting several gnomes (which came to find out what all the noise was about), searched out Wendy's bundle and put her dress inside, collected the shells and bones to dispose of them elsewhere, and left the hideout. Of course they took great care to make certain that the entrance was invisible. Yes, Hook seemed to be a loyal comrade-in-arms, but as they knew the pirate (and Peter) it was only a question of time, until the Prince of Neverland would enrage the buccaneer again, and it was safer that he didn't know where to find them.

As boys and Elves met at sundown at the shore of Pirate's Cove, the tall warriors carried satchels the three boys hadn't seen before. "Some of us went to our world to fetch medicine and bandages, and a few new clothes," Thalion responded to their curious questions.

"Is it that easy for you to pass between your realm and Neverland?" John asked, always the explorer.

"No, young John, it is not easy, but the effort is freely given in order to retrieve necessary appurtenances." Thalion gestured to one of the sacks. "The medicine is running out and the pirates may have ample supplies in their holds, but certainly no clean bandages."

Curly giggled. "Don't worry about a little pirate dirt."

"Or that bandages aren't white anymore."

"And used without being washed again!"

The three boys laughed aloud, their affection for their former enemies immediately apparent, and the Elves smiled in reply. Yes, the buccaneers were not the clean sort. And even Hook's generally immaculate example couldn't change this.

Curly stopped short. "Are two of your men missing?" he asked, scratching his thick honey-coloured curls

The tall Elf with the ebony hair smiled and replied, "Yes, we know."

Slightly watched, as the other Elves stowed the bags into the longboat. "Don't you want to search for them?"

Thalion chuckled gently. "They have remained at home to deliver messages to our families and our lords that we were successful and that we will return shortly."

John stared up at him. "You … you're leaving??"

The Elf had put his own sack into the boat. He now turned and kindly stroked the sleek brown hair of the boy. "Every visit ends someday. Neverland is safe again. You, your friends and siblings have no more need of us."

"But… you'll return?" Curly asked hesitantly and his two friends nodded, looking stunned.

Thalion sighed. "I do not know the answer, young friends. Our duty here is fulfilled, and we are needed elsewhere." He smiled brightly to cheer them up. "But we're not gone yet – and our wounded will stay a little while longer."

The boys hung their heads, and Thalion exchanged an understanding look with his comrades, before he took the three boys in a warm fatherly embrace. Willingly they hugged him back, until he straightened and nodded toward the ship. "Time to return, I think, meat and medical aid is required."

Slightly sighed, gestured to John and Curly to step into the boat, threw them Wendy's bundle with the dress and climbed in as well. Peter wasn't going to like this news. Not one bit.

*****************

They were right. Peter didn't like this news – especially not in his current state. Why, oh why had he tried to outdrink that nasty, damned pirate? He had not yet healed from their last adventures – and what an adventure it had been! – and he, Peter Pan, eternal boy and Prince of Neverland had something that only grown-ups were stupid enough to inflict on themselves: a hangover!

Not good at all!

Then the news that Thalion and most of his Elves would soon leave Neverland? Yes, he had been convinced that he didn't need any adults, but he felt completely different with the Elves. They weren't men, not simple grownups, but immortal, strong and gentle beings who had fought at his side, died to protect him and his magical island. In his opinion, they belonged to Neverland now, and discovering that they intended to leave was a severe blow.

Wendy had returned to Hook's quarters to help clean up, as Hook attempted to regain some sort of control over his crew. Glawar, who had changed Peter's bandages, sat at the table, now free of last night's detritus, and looked with compassion on the sadness of the children.

"Giliath will stay until the marriage of Aurora and Kailen," she reassured them, and had the full attention of the children. "He said so only minutes ago."

Peter, still sore and headachey, shifted in the bed. "And you? Don't you want to stay?"

She sighed. "Thalion got news that he and his men are summoned to another part of our woods. Evil creatures have attacked one of our villages there, and I will accompany him."

"Why?" Michael asked with a small voice. He liked Glawar very much and – secretly – he compared her with his mother.

"Because they have the spring fever," Bumblyn grumbled from the spot at the end of the bed, where he had curled himself in a ball – still nursing his cold and hangover.

"What is a… a 'spring fever?" Nibs wanted to know, and jumped almost a foot high, as he heard a 'plop' behind him, then the raspy voice of the Klabautermann: "Something I warned our little green friend about. It turns every man inside out and turns him into a fool, it's about something no sane man should be involved with: Love."

Peter sighed – not THAT again; it made him uneasy. Glawar's ears promptly reddened and Wendy's eyes lit up. "You and Thalion?" she asked the Elvish woman, whose cheeks flushed.

"I… I've known him for more than five hundred years now and … and I often felt like a moth driven to the flame whenever he came in our valley. But … I never believed that he felt as I did, but last night --"

"-- he declared his undying love for you," Peter grinned. "And so you are going to marry him and live happily ever after."

Glawar laughed, sounding something like the cathedral's bell choir, and Wendy laughed merrily in return: "And I thought I was the storyteller here."

"That you are," the Peter replied, returning her happy smile.

"And one of the --"

"-- really great ones!" the Twins smiled.

"Better," Peter added, and looked straight at the first tender affection of his life. "She is the best girl that ever wa--" With a definite 'click' his mouth snapped shut, and turned a deep shade of red. But he wasn't the only one. Wendy's whole face pinked, and she stroked a strand of her hair behind her ear, as the others guffawed…

TBC…


	43. Departures and new beginnings

**42. Chapter – Departures and New Beginnings**

In the morning, two days later, a solemn silence hung over the _Jolly Roger_. For most of the sailors, sadness had befallen them and even their proud, fierce commander stood with a blank expression on the main-deck, listening for the missing screams of the gulls. Yes, the animals as well as they seemed to feel the loss, like the bright sun leaving the magical island. The island itself was still, the wind was cool and clouds discouraged the warm rays of the sun. Heavens, even the waves had calmed. Many of the crew were ranged about the deck, seated on the railings or on the yardarms, watching the farewells. Some were even talking in low voices with the departing warriors.

"Do you truly have to go?" Michael asked, and his sister, holding his hand, blinked rapidly, fighting the tears now stinging her eyes.

"Can't you stay…"

"… just a little longer?" asked the Twins, and Tootles – munching an apple – nodded eagerly.

Thalion stood before them; the children, Peter, Hook, Wendy in light summer frock and barefoot, Esteban and the small hobgoblin. The Elf gazed at them with warm sympathy, his eyes saying farewell to each in turn. Finally he looked upon the girl, who had graced them so generously with her strength, her kindness, her courage, so rarely seen in the race of men. Her eyes, too, begged him not to leave Neverland and them, but he had his duties. Yes, he desired greatly to stay until the marriage of the rose-fairy and the pixie, but he and his warriors were needed elsewhere. He lifted one smooth hand and stroke the creamy cheek of the girl; a warmth flowing from her to him. "I am sorry, dear lady, but we have remained already too long," he apologized, gesturing toward his warriors wearing their travel packs and weapons, supporting their recovering comrades. Again clad in silver/sand colors, carrying their ever-present bows and arrows and elegant curved swords, they were once again the knights of the light – a mighty stronghold against anything dark and sinister that dared to rise against them. And even among these warriors, the scowls and coughs hid the emotions threatening to bring tears to the warm-hearted folk. Their commander smiled softly. "Our people are waiting for our return to protect them against the beasts which attacked our villages. And it will be easier for our wounded to heal in our own realm. We have a duty me must perform."

Hook lifted one brow. "I hope, Master Elf, you're not saying that they're prevented from recovering by being on this ship!"

Thalion stared at him, shocked. "Captain! This was never my intention, nor that of my men. We simply--"

Peter rolled his eyes and poked Hook with his uninjured elbow. "Relax, Thalion. One of Hooky's favourite hobbies is taking offence, even where none is intended. Remember?"

The Elf's look of alarm relaxed into a chuckle, and soon everyone joined him, glad to laugh instead of mourn. Peter was almost his old self again, and the few remaining bandages didn't change this impression. His joyful, mischievous attitude had returned, as seen in his sparkling eyes when he looked at the captain, who threw him a sharp glance. "Keep on going like t'is, boy, and me 'favourite hobby' will be not only to 'take offence' of ye, but to teach ye just how a lubber like yerself is to show _respect_." His accent was stronger – the clear sign that the captain of the _Jolly Roger_ was not so relaxed as he looked.

Peter gave him his famous smirk. "Surely you've figured out that my respect is reserved for someone important?!"

"Someone important? Is it possible that you still don't get it, Pan? You're on MY ship that is under MY command. And it is up to ME, whether you can stay on it – or to be thrown over board."

"And YOU seem to forget that I can still FLY, old man! So--"

"What? You have your wings back? A tad short, aren't they?"

"Do you want a demonstration, pirate?"

"Do you want to feel again how it is to be lain over my knee, brat?"

"ENOUGH!" Wendy snapped, while the boys all giggled, Tinker Bell jingled merrily with belly laughs, and the Elven warriors sighed.

"They will never learn to get along," Nihal murmured.

Glawar, standing near Thalion, shook her head. "They already have, and they will again – when the time comes. Until then…" She shrugged her shoulders and winked at Hook, whose cheeks turned pink. _This glorious female had winked at him – in front of the whole crew!_ No, not good for his reputation, which had suffered within the last days. And who was to blame for the fact that his men whispered behind his back he was becoming soft? Of course, that sweet storyteller who dared to snap at him – before the crew, as well! Great Neptune's garters, he must regain his authority among his men, or all would be lost! So he turned around, gave Wendy a cool glance and asked emotionlessly (ignoring the Elvish lady): "I beg your pardon, kitten? I think I don't think I heard you correctly."

Wendy missed his desperate attempt to regain the respect of a gang of cutthroat pirates, and answered clearly: "Nihal is right. Peter and you have never gotten along better, but as soon as the danger is gone, you two fall back to your old behaviour!" The two scolded males stared at her, but she didn't waver. "You, Peter, should show more respect toward our host, and you, Captain, should not fall prey to the baiting of Peter. After all, you're the mature one here, and are able to see the difference between a joke and a true insult."

Pirate and youth both frowned identically, then crossed their arms, pressed their lips close and eyed her with a grim expression that was answered with a sweet, stern smile. Men!

And she wasn't the only one trying not to guffaw at the similarity of man and boy. Several buccaneers and Elves looked away, attempting to hide their amusement. Two fairies and the pixie snickered. And even the Lost Boys giggled behind hands clasped over their mouths seeing man and boy once again acting as one.

Giliath, leaning on Smee and a crutch, finally broke the silence. "Thalion, _mellon nîn_, I think it is safe to leave the two of them alone. Our little heroine has them completely under her charming control!"

This time both Peter and Hook growled, and the others broke into friendly laughter.

It was Esteban, who stepped forward and bowed deeply. "Twas my keen and heartfelt pleasure to meet you, Milords," he grumbled and he even lifted the tiny hat he wore today.

Thalion lowered his head, before he squatted before the Klabautermann and smiled. There was something no human would ever see: not the ship alone, but the ghost and the spirit of a ship made it more than a 'pile of planks', as Peter would call it. A ship was more than skilfully crafted wood, woven cotton and a sharp voice to give commands. It was its own living self, a shelter, an explorer, carrying lives on it over the water and from land to land. And the one who could take the best care of it was this small nyxx, who had been with the ship during its construction, and watched over it now, until its time had run out. "Thank you so much for your hospitality, Master Nyxx. You not only protect the ship the best you can, even in the greatest danger, but thanks to you my men and I were able to see the sea for the first time, and even could swim in it." He offered his hand. "_Aa' i'sul nora lanne'lle_ - Fair wind in your sails, Spirit of the Ship."

Esteban looked with big blue-green eyes at him, then he smirked, took one of the fingers and shook it. "T'was nice to have you aboard, shining landlubber. But, really, you and your _amigos_ are belonging into the woods. 'Tis not your time now to yearn for the sea."

Thalion lifted his gaze and glanced at Glawar. "No, little friend, you're right. My greatest yearning has come to an end and my life is starting anew."

Esteban grumbled something and murmured a hearty "_Adios_, _amigos_!" Then, with the well-known 'pop', he simply vanished. Only his pipe was visible a moment longer, then a small hand shot out from nowhere and the pipe was gone, too. Tiny footsteps led away and in the wink of an eye, you could hear the soft beating of the Klabautermann's hammer as he checked masts and sails.

Hook cleared his throat and the Elf rose and turned his attention toward him. Their eyes met and for a long moment they kept silence, then Thalion cocked his head and a smile flickered over his features. "And my thanks to you, too, Captain. When I first met you I never would have believed that you would turn out to be the best ally I've ever had."

The buccaneer bowed lightly. "Your words are most welcome, Master Elf, and I have to confess that my first impression of you and your men were somewhat … out of place."

"In other words: he was wrong and is completely astounded by it," Peter 'translated' and ducked, as the left hand of the pirate nearly slapped him on the back of his head.

"Quiet, boy!"

"Make me!"

Two sets of bright eyes locked in a glare, and even the two fairies moaned. Thalion offered the pirate-captain his hand, before the bickering could change in something more serious. "I wish you always a hand-widths water beneath the keel, and may your ship will always reach a safe harbour."

James bowed, before he took the offered hand with his left one. "I don't know how Elves say 'good bye', so forgive me if I am out-of-place." Then he straightened to his full height, looked straight into the eyes of the ebony-haired warrior. "I wish you peace and good fortune, and may your enemies always be slower than you."

Thalion smiled softly, before he lowered his head, laid his other hand over his heart and replied: "_Aa' lasser en lle coia orn n' omenta gurtha_ – May the leaves of your life tree never turn brown."

A glimpse of understanding flashed in the eyes of the pirate-captain, blue as forget-me-knots – as he released the Elf's had. Thalion turned to Peter, hesitated a moment and then simply pulled him in a warm embrace, which Peter, for once, did not resist. "_Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta_ – may your ways be green and golden," he whispered and felt – to his unique surprise – tears of affection welling up in his throat. _By the love of the woods, he was fond of this brave, little hero!_

Peter, who was unaccustomed to being held, was tempted to stiffen. Instead, he patted the strong back of the Elf and murmured: "Be careful in the future and … and thanks for saving me over and over again." Even he, the Prince of Neverland, so proud, so independent, felt a strong connection to this man of the Elven race. Thalion was his friend now, and he hated it to see him go.

"I think the answer in your language is: you're welcome."

He tousled the already wild sandy locks of the boy, squeezed him gently one last time and moved in front of Wendy. Her cheeks were damp by now, and as he bowed to say good-bye, she simply threw her arms around him and started to weep. Thalion sighed. He knew how full of warmth and love was this mortal girl, and that the parting would be bittersweet, but now – as the time had come – he felt the pang of sadness deep inside. The girl had earned his respect – not only because of her courage, but her glistening soul as well – and he had begun to think of her as one of his own folk. "Sh-sh, little one. No tears, I beg you. I may be a soldier, but I am completely lost when it comes to a woman's tears."

That this was as close to a lie as an Elf could make was as obvious as the sun at midday, because the way he held her and stroked her hair displayed his skill even at this.

Glawar stepped forward and lay a healing hand on Wendy's back; sharing a part of her own warmth and hope with her as only an Elf can do. As the girl lifted her tear-streaked face, the Elvish woman felt affection rising in her. She bent down and pressed a gentle kiss on Wendy's temple. "Hush, little sister, there is so much to come for you – and so much joy and bliss lies ahead for you that no tears are necessary."

Wendy sniffed and tried to show a brave face, but failed miserably. "I … you're all so dear to me now, you and … and Thalion… and Nihal, Giliath … and all the others. Will we never see you again?"

Glawar pursed her full lips. "Many times in our lives, beautiful moments pass us by with no chance to hold them forever. We will meet people and grow to love them, only to see them leave, and we will know joys and adventures which will fill us with warmth and hope that last a lifetime. Yes, we mourn when those moments and episodes have ended or those people depart from us. But our lives would be so much darker, if we hadn't met the others or hadn't the chance to find happiness in these special moments."

(Curly leaned over and whispered to Nibs and Slightly, "I think that means 'no'.")

Wendy looked at her; the sight of Glawar's face a bit blurry because of her tears, but she was beginning to understand what Glawar was telling her. One last time she tightened her embrace around Thalion, whispered a "_Diola lle_ – Thank you!" and wrapped her arms then around Glawar, while the other Elves started to say their own good-byes and Thalion started to tease Bumblyn, who promptly sneezed and fell over backward.

"I wish you all the happiness and the love of the world, Wendy," the graceful woman murmured. "And beware as you grow. Strength and beauty in girls are like honey to bees in both good and evil men. There will come a time you must decide what you really want in your life and with whom you want to share it." She felt Wendy raising her head, and lifted her own from the girl's shoulder, looking deep into her eyes. "Not everything and everyone is as they first appear, and sometimes the way that seems to be wrong is the right one. Yes, the way will be full of thorns and many people you love will not understand your decisions and your feelings, but in the end only one thing counts: to find the way the Master sets before you, which will assure you of the love you're so hungry for." She kissed her forehead, and a new assurance and blessing flowed like warm honey in the girl's limbs. "In my heart I will be with you, little one, and when things seem dark, don't forget your friends here. They all have ways of finding you and standing up for you. After all, they're magic, too!" She winked at the girl, touched her cheek one last time, and then approached Peter, who backpedalled, holding his hand up, halting her.

"Um, uh, Lady, no thimbles, no teary farewells. I'm no girl--"

"What's THAT supposed to mean?" Wendy asked in annoyance.

Half of the surrounding crew and all the boys laughed out loud, and Hook smirked: "It seems, child, that Pan has learned a thing or two about females." He almost smiled when he caught her restrained pique, while Peter glanced at her sheepishly.

"I… I… uh… Wendy, I didn't mean to… _HEY!_" Glawar had taken the opportunity of his distraction to bend down and touch his forehead with her lips. Turning pink from the hair-roots to the dirty toes, Peter wiped the spot and frowned at her. "Only Wendy is allowed to do that!" he protested, producing a snicker from his friends – and a bark of laughter from Hook.

"So you'll never grow up, Pan? Only one special girl can kiss you? Seriously, boy, I can see the day when you're wearing trousers, shoes, shirt and collar to school, start to shave your beard and--"

"Bite your tongue, codfish!" Peter shot back, met Glawar's amused look, turned from pink to crimson-red and lowered his head. "Sorry, Lady, but… but…" He shrugged helpless and Giliath came to his aid.

"Loyalty is nothing to be ashamed of, Peter. My sister is always overdoing it."

Glawar glanced heavenward, rolling her eyes in a manner she'd picked up from the children, and touched Peter's shoulder. "Be wary, little hero. There will always be someone who is jealous of your way of life, or desires the power of your island for himself. Sometimes these foes arrive from other magical realms, ready to hunt you down because of your youth, or just because you are in their way. Sometimes those who desire your downfall will be from this never ending fountain of surprises, Neverland. Someday one will even come from Wendy's world." She saw the boy's eyes lowering and continued: "You must use a grown-up's caution, lad. Be as wise as a serpent, and as innocent as a dove. He will bring danger and difficulty not much different than S'Hadh's, to get control of Neverland."

The youth blinked several times. "Who is it, Glawar? What does he want?" His voice was troubled.

Glawar shook her head. "I am sorry, my little friend, I can say no more. Even for me the future is not clear, but when the time comes, _you will know_ what to do."

She smiled and turned toward Hook. Hook took the opportunity to teach the boy something, along with a cool rebuke. "Care to learn how to behave toward a lady who wants to say good-by?" he asked dryly. He took Glawar's hand carefully with the back of his metal claw, bent over it and touched his lips to it in perfect form. "I wish you a fair seas, clear skies, and a strong wind at your back, Milady. I thank you for your generous help toward my men and myself these last few days. May you find all of the happiness that you have blessed our young friends with."

Glawar grinned, suddenly altering her appearance to that of a pointy eared angelic little girl. "I have found my happiness, Captain. I thank you for your gallant words." Something like mischievousness played on her shining features. "And do not close your eyes, when such special happiness lies right before you. You have a way of holding joy at arm's length."

He gaped at her, before she closed the distance and breathed a kiss on his cheek. "I know the heart you desire, even if her youth makes you hesitate. For even you, bold Captain, are too much a gentleman within your pirate shell, and still know what is right and wrong. But be patient and wait until the time has brought the changes necessary to be no longer out of question for you. And when the time has come, aim truly, and don't destroy it with your temper."

Her words were no more than a breath, audible only to him, but they echoed in James' ears like a thunder. "Who the devil are you're talking about?!" he blurted out, and the Elvish woman threw her head back and her laughter pealed to the crow's nest and back again.

"Stubborn, proud, _blind_ man, you insist, against all the evidence otherwise, that your heart hasn't changed, hasn't begun to beat on another level." Her palm stroked his cheek and cupped his chin. "How deeply I long to be present to witness the change when you finally gain the skill of walking with open eyes."

She turned away, so she missed the scowl on the captain's face, but the boys clapped their hands over their sniggers, reluctant to interrupt the Lady's graceful farewell.

The farewell took longer than planned, and it was already midday before the Elves stepped aboard the two longboats. Mullins, Jackson, Starbuck and Starky would row them ashore. From there, they would walk to the portal and back to their own world. Giliath waved, saluted them from the rail, and his sister raised her face to look back one last time. He knew that he would see her again shortly, feeling the sweet sorrow of missing her in the meantime. She would soon leave the valley which had been their home. She would leave him, his twin, his sister, the other one to whom he belonged since birth, to go with Thalion, to be his best friend's wife…

Giliath sighed. Their lives weren't so different from the humans'.

Wendy, seeing the beginning of sadness in his eyes, took his elbow, smiling up at him. "You'll see, they will have a beautiful marriage and--"

"-- will live happily ever after," Peter finished, grinning.

Hook was looking back and forth between the boy and the couple. "Eh? What was that?" he asked.

The boy smirked: "Thalion and Glawar are getting married!"

"WHAT?" The pirate stared at him, then at the boat carrying the Elves to shore, and then at the tiny couple that stood on the rail and held each other. A moan escaped him. "Is the whole world love-struck?"

"Spring fever!" piped Bumblyn and sneezed, which made the whole crew tell him, "Good bless you!"

Hook closed his eyes. What a fine group of _pirates_ they all were! They'd soon be having tea with crumpets, and lessons in _comportment,_ for pity's sake! Great gabbling gallstones! It really was time to get back to their daily routine! – that is, after the marriage celebration of the two miniature lovers. He sighed deeply. _Why HIM??_

* * *

When soulmates find their path all the way to marriage, you can be certain that the bright light of a special love bathes everything around it in a golden shimmer. But such was an understatement when it came to Kailen and Aurora.

It was three days after the longboats left the Elves on the island that the actual wedding took place, and there was no-one -- magical creature, pirate, Indian, boy – or girl – who wasn't practically shivering in anticipation. Even Captain Hook, who was rather proud of his self-control (which was, he suspected, not as strong as he had always thought) felt his innards quivering.

That morning, the island was abuzz with activity. It seemed as if every fairy from Neverland and beyond had business on both sides of the island at once. They flew from tree to grotto, to shore, to stream and back again, leaving tracks of gold glistening in the sunshine and dusting every leaf and path with a surface. Their usual musical bustle seemed multiplied, and the wind carried their jingling, tinkling, clinking, jangling and ringing to every corner, treetop and root, and the island smiled back.

Jukes, who had the morning watch, told his comrades – and his half listening commander – that he saw the will-o'-the-wisps dancing out of the swamps during sunrise and vanishing straight into the middle of the island. Only the mermaids seemed unaffected. They still came into the lagoon, bathed on the sunny rocks in the middle of the waves and played with the dolphins. But around mid-morning, they grew curious and asked several of the pirates what was going on. Calling from the ship's side, they gave them the news about this extraordinary marriage. So, giggling, the dangerous, beautiful sea-creatures watched from every vantage point they could gain.

Yes, something enormous was afoot.

Hook sighed and smoothed the dark waistcoat with the gold piping; feeling the twinge of the harpies' claws against the movements. The _Jolly Roger_ had become silent since the children left two days ago. _Not that he minded the silence. No, not a bit_. It was ... relaxing to have that pack of unnerving churls no longer running around the ship, exploring under the deck and through the stores, or playing hide-and-seek in the riggings, screaming, laughing, bickering. But, on the other hand … damn, it was quiet!

His crew had more-or-less returned to their routine. Over the past two days, he had greatly enjoyed conversation with Giliath, who remained on the _Jolly Roger_ to recover from the worst of his injuries. The Elven healer had knowledge Hook had never considered, a lively curiosity about how humans live and think, and now – after the danger of S'Hadh was defeated – he allowed himself to speak of his own realm. It was pleasing to him, as well, to converse with someone as well-lived and widely experienced as James Hook, who could listen closely and with understanding. Yes, of course, Wendy was fascinating company, too, but she was a still a child, after all, and talking man-to-man (or, more accurately, man-to-Elf) was something Hook hadn't enjoyed for a very long time.

James glanced in the mirror, running his fingers easily through his curls. It had taken Smee quite a while with the comb, then the brush, but a neat waterfall of nearly-black curls had resulted. What a difference to the short, sandy-golden disarray the eternal boy wore. It was amazing that someone clean, bathed and combed could metamorphose into a filthy urchin in nearly the wink of an eye, as had happened to Peter almost the moment he was back in the air.

After Peter's afflictions had mostly healed– and thanks to Glawar and Giliath, this had happened much faster than usual – it was impossible to keep the boy abed. Hangover a bad memory and arm nearly back to normal, Peter was in the air – literally and figuratively. No sail, no deck, no corner, no barrel or door on the _Jolly Roger_ was safe against his curiosity and replenished mood. And when he announced to Hook that he and the others would return to their hide-out to help prepare for the marriage, the captain wasn't the only one relieved. And, to his delight, they took Bumblyn with them. Hook admitted (to himself) that the creature wasn't as bad as he had thought at first. But, in one aspect, Giliath and Peter had been right: the bogey was a walking, talking stomach (with a nasty cold), and Cookson was already wailing because of the rapidly shrinking supplies.

Wendy went with the boys, and this gnawed in his depths, being without her now for two days was like a lingering stomach ache. Yes, yes, yes! of course he knew that she was far too young for him to see something more in her than a pleasant diversion, an occasional conversation, yet, there was a deep hidden emotion that came out at the most unsuitable moments, and left him with a startling kind of yearning and uneasiness. If only she were a little bit older – five or six years…

'_Yes, well? And then, James? You would be still older than she, much older. You don't even know how long you've been stuck on this blasted island, and even if you could get away from here, you could be – you could be ... her father!'_

He sighed, and started to polish the metal replacement where right hand used to be, lost in thought, as…

"HOOOOOOK!!!!"

The scream came from outside, and the pirate yelped, whirled around with a curse, only to see Peter darting through one of his open windows, panic all over his face, his feet hit the boards in front of the Captain.

"Damn it, boy, don't give me a heart attack!" he barked, but the lad grabbed his arms and shouted desperately, "I need your help!"

Hook frowned and blinked several times. "What was that? Did I hear you right? YOU need MY help? _Again_?"

Again in the air, Peter tightened his grip; ignoring the man's sarcasm and the ache returning in his left shoulder. "Hook, what does it mean to be someone's best MAN?"

Hook stared at him, uncomprehending. "Excuse you?"

"What is a 'best man'?" the boy repeated, clearly beside himself.

The ship's commander wrinkled his forehead and repeated in a calm way, "Normally it means that you are a witness of the marriage and…"

"What?" This time it Peter's turn to sound like a pinched mermaid.

Hook grimaced, and tried to loosen the boy's grip around his arms, but without success. Peter clung to him like a lifeline. "It means a 'witness of marriage'," he repeated and sneered: "It has nothing to do with being a grown-up – as in 'man', boy, so don't get yourself in a dither."

At last Peter let go of the pirate, feet again on the floor, sighing with relief. "I thought… uhhhhm," he began, rubbing his forehead.

"What? That someone wants you to be a man?" He turned and picked up his frock-coat – a new blood-red velvet one with heavy golden embroideries, just finished by Smee. The old coat had been too damaged by the harpies to save. "Relax, Pan, no one wants to make you grow up – God have mercy on us all – into a 'best' man."

Peter scowled, watching the pirate dress. "Of course not, after all I am the best BOY that ever was." He bit his bottom lip while his thoughts roamed a little further, hands on hips. Witness of marriage. Witness of marriage? What is a "witness of marriage"?

Alarm started up his spine again, and again he jumped forward, clutching Hook's left arm. "And… and what do I have to do as … as a witness of marriage?"

Hook met the uncertain eyes of the youth and lifted a brow. "Why, you have only to stand beside the bridal pair, and confirm before the others there that the vows were correct and they are truly married. That is all!" He slipped into his frock-coat over his right arm and hook, then was taken aback as Peter lent a hand, drawing the heavy garment over the man's shoulders.

"That's it?" he asked and flew up behind the pirate; plucking out his black curls from under the collar. This made Hook wince, because the boy was a bit rough in his haste, but he did not complain. And, after all, only two weeks ago they both tried very sincerely to kill each other!

He settled the coat, smoothing the front, and glanced mockingly at the youth. "Bedknobs and barnacles. Pan is nervous. You never cease to amaze me, m'boy."

The leader of the Lost Boys rolled his eyes. "I just don't want to mess up the ceremony for Kailen and Aurora, or--"

"Are you saying they asked YOU to be their best man!?"

Peter's troubled expression disappeared, and he snickered when he saw the man's face. "You just looked like you saw a mermaid fly by!" he laughed. Hook narrowed his eyes, but the boy ignored it. Proudly he straightened, lifted his chin and replied, "Yes, Kailen asked me to be his best man." He chuckled, but the buccaneer sighed deeply.

"Well, that's putting the fox in charge of the geese." He frowned, remembering something else. "As a witness to the marriage, you've have to give the wedding rings to the groom, and sign the wedding-papers." He glanced at the youth and sneered: "Will that last item be a problem, Pan, aye? Or do you know how to write? As far as I know, you… What is it now, boy?" He sounded unnerved, for Peter had suddenly begun to search hectically for something at his belt.

Whatever it was he was looking for, it wasn't there anymore. His wide eyes met Hook's. "The tear!" he gasped.

"The tear? What tear?"

"Wendy's tear! The tear she gave me in the Black Castle!" Peter was sincerely in distress. "It… it isn't here! I… I had it in a small leather bag, and hung it on my belt before S'Hadh's creatures kidnapped me." _By the wings of the fairies, he couldn't have lost it, could he?_

Hook appeared thoughtful, then shook his head ruefully. "Perhaps you lost it during that catastrophic trip through the inside of the volcano, or during your fight against S'Hadh and that miserable goblin who wanted to hurl you over the crater-edge?"

Peter stared at him, knowing the man had to be right, he must have lost it in the fight. He hung his head. "I… I promised to give it back to her when the danger was over. And now…"

He looked so crestfallen, it touched something in the heart of the pirate. He laid his hand on the boy's slumped shoulder. "She will understand, Peter. Wendy is not the type that screeches as soon as something goes wrong. You fought for your life – and mine, by the way. She certainly is far happier to have _you_, instead of a lousy pearl, and knowing you are dead."

The blue crystal eyes rose to meet Hooks, and the obvious appearance of returning hope made the man smile without noticing it. "Cull some flowers and give them to her. Girls love that." Heavens, did he really give this agelessly irritating churl advice on how to make up with a female? Well, he'd already ascertained over the past two weeks that he'd utterly lost his mind.

Peter cocked his head, decided that the captain was sincere, and beamed at him. "Thanks, Hooky, you really can be a buddy – when you're not being evil."

The buccaneer sighed. His reputation just dropped another notch! The boy – and the girl! – were finishing him off. Not with force or deadly weapons, but kindness and civility. Seeing the boy so emotionally expressive made him nervous. "And will you perform such an important duty looking like THIS?" He indicated dirty feet, smudges on his arms, legs and chest, as well as his grubby countenance.

Peter grimaced. "Of course not. I'll bathe by the waterfall later."

He scratched his head, which made Hook comment: "And don't forget to wash that mop of yours."

"Don't try and change me, old man, it'll never work"

'_Back to that name again,'_ Hook thought, grimacing. "Being clean – especially as part of a wedding – is something even you should understand, boy. After all, what would your sweet Wendy say, if she comes in her prettiest frock, and you're there looking like a refugee from the alleys of London?"

Peter clapped his hands to his cheeks. "Wendy! I almost forgot!"

"What now?" James murmured, reaching for his sash.

"She asked me this morning to come to you and to ask if you would lend her a brush and a piece of soap, because her brush was broken in our game yesterday, and the soap she brought along from London … uh, vanished after she washed our clothes."

Hook grimaced. "I have an inkling who is responsible for this 'vanishing'." Then he stopped. "By my count, she already has one of my shirts, a pair of my woollen stockings, a towel as well as--"

"And you want to call yourself a gentleman! What gentleman would deny a young lady a brush and soap?"

He mumbled some choice words, and Peter watched, smirking, as the man walked to his closet and returned shortly with the requested items. "Here, and tell that madwoman that I want to see them again soon." He handed Peter the brush and the soap, and added: "And perhaps you might use them, as well."

The eternal boy chuckled, took the two items and rose into the air; sorrow for the precious tear already forgotten, happy to be able to bring her what she needed. "Until later, Hooky. Don't be late if you want a piece of the wedding cake!"

The buccaneer shook his head as the youth made his exit out of the window. Wedding cake! As if THAT was the only reason to accept an invitation to a wedding party. Then it hit him: two more of his possessions had just been transferred from _Jolly Roger_ to the brats' hideout He groaned. He really wondered what all of his was in that blasted hole Pan and the boys called 'home'. He was certain it would be far more than the weapons and fabric Peter stole before their adventure together had begun. If he remembered correctly, he was certain they must have had to build a separate stockroom to store all the goods that had gone missing over the years. "One day", he growled, "one day soon I will find that damn hideout and make an inventory – and then present Pan the bill!"

******************

Never before had the Ancient Forest been so full of life as this afternoon. At the centre of the Green Masters, the mighty spirits of the trees, beasts and magical creatures all passed silently and respectfully. But not today. Since the evening before, they had been collecting starlight, morning rays and fairy dust, transforming the old woods into a shining park, a playground full of lights and flowers. The bushes seemed to know what was required and with thrice the blooms. Birds came from all over the island, chirping and singing, the Neverbird trilled with uncharacteristically gentle voice, and if you listened very closely, you even could hear the singing of the fairies.

Peter stood before Master Dagda, the oldest of the Green Masters, who had awoken for this major event, and gave the little Prince of Neverland one of his very rare commendations. He and the others had felt the evil rising from deep below, and they had suffered the worst, because their deep roots had nearly burnt from the hellish malevolence S'Hadh had woken in the volcano. They had frozen in the dark winter cold, and they had nearly lost all their leaves – something that never happened before. But the worst had not come, because of the boy, standing now proudly between the Green Masters, accepting their laud for his defeat of the wizard, saving the magical island and with it all its inhabitants. And – oh wonder of all wonders! – Peter hardly boasted at all, but gladly told the tale to Dagda and the others that he would never have been able to do it if Hook and the others had not helped him.

The Lost Boys, clad in their usual attire once again, (clean thanks to Wendy) surrounded their leader, listened to his story, filling in the empty places, and laughing often, because the whole thing now sounded as if it had been a great adventure full of thrilling fun. Yes, it was a blessing to all the young ones that Peter's memory wasn't the best at times. Yes, of course they all got hurt here and there – after all, what would an adventure be without scars to show for it! – hearing all those compliments about their glorious victory made it up for any remaining aches.

As the afternoon advanced, the wedding grove was filling with more and more of the enchanted folk of Neverland. At first a good three dozen pixies came, followed by gnomes and skeaghshees, who had left the knotholes where they lived. The will'o-the-wisp and watershees, who had arrived from the swamps early in the morning and had had hidden from the sunshine under the leaves, waiting for the dusk, and their soft glow bathed the clearing in a silver shimmer, mingling with the gold of the fairy-dust. More and more fairies flew into the clearing and took their places on stems and leaves, while the pixies sat where ever they found room, as did the skeaghshees. Before the ceremony, and every stone, every tree-stump and every twig was frosted by the Fairy-Folk, and their unique voices created a special atmosphere in the warm air, exchanging news, visiting with old friends long since seen, sharing their own views of the harrowing events that had recently concluded.

Then the noise of more approaching folk came nearer and with loud "Halloo's!" the newcomers greeted the other magical creatures and found welcome there – even if one pixie peeped: "Rescue the wedding-cake!" Smart pixie, because the newcomers were the hobgoblins from the Black Castle, led by a proud Bumblyn. His role in the adventure with the sinister wizard had earned him a high reputation among his people. Laughing and screeching the hobgoblins tumbled in the grass or dangled from branches, waving toward at boys. Bumblyn pelted to Peter, embracing him around the knees. They hadn't seen each other since their departure from the ship, and the little bogey was happy to see the boy again, and vice versa.

"Where is the wonderful Wendy?" Bumblyn squeaked, and Peter shrugged.

"Don't know. She said to leave her alone while she got ready for the wedding and shooed all us boys out of our hideout."

"Girls! They need all day to get ready for a party," Nibs laughed knowingly.

"Hey, sounds like the voice of experience!" Curly joked and Slightly elbowed John with the words: "I think it's the girl next door in Bloomsbury. He always puppy dog eyes when he sees her."

"Not me!" Nibs snapped; turning pink.

"Aye, she turns heads, that one!" John grinned and Nibs lifted a brow.

"When did you have time to notice? I thought you've only eyes for Tiger-Lily!"

Now it was John's turn to redden, and the rest of the Darling boys laughed at him good naturedly. Michael laughed so hard he got the hiccups.

"Patience, John," Peter told him, whacking Michael on the back, "I'm sure the princess will be here with her father. After all, this is a rare 'do' on our island."

As if fate had overheard him, the chattering of the sprouts died suddenly, only to break into loud cheers. At the far end of the clearing, a new group approached, clad in heavily beaded leather. Huge feathers adorned the chief's black and silver hair, while Great Panther wore a feather hood; its long fringe nearly touching the ground. Over their shoulders they wore mantles woven in the traditional design and in rich colors the Indians loved. Ceremonial lances were bedecked with beads and feathers, too. Chief Rain-in-the-face and Great Panther were accompanied by Medicine-Woman, other tribal elders, and Tiger-Lily, wearing a long pale dress, embroidered with small pearls. Her hair was loose down her back, crowned by a beaded circlet. About her neck, a circle of pearlescent shells from creatures that only grew around the enchanted island. Her dark eyes grew wide when she saw John, now in the Indian trousers Tiger-Lily's mother had given him nearly two weeks ago.

All the boys exchanged knowing looks when they saw the expressions that passed between the Indian princess and Wendy's brother. Chief Rain-in-the-Face didn't miss them, either, and frowned slightly. Yes, much as he liked the boy, as a father he warily observed the budding romance between his daughter and the visitor from very far away.

Peter ceremoniously approached the chief and bowed. The older man greeted him with the words: "My heart is light and my eyes are happy to see Little White Eagle safe and healthy again. As the darkness fell upon this land, Rain-in-the-Face was certain the end had finally come, but thanks to you, all of us are rescued. Even the fire-mountain didn't send its deadly breath over us, as if it to obey the will of Little White Eagle."

The eternal boy bowed deeply the second time. "Thank you for your kind words. Little White Eagle is proud to receive the chief's compliments."

They got no further, because others approached from the opposite direction, using that soft, musical voice, laughing happily, Neverland's language with gracious words rarely heard in any of the worlds.

Every creature in the grove promptly craned his/her/its neck to be the one to get the first look at the Elf who drew near the clearing, fair as the morning light itself, barely marking the grass on the flowered path. His steps were slow but firm, and he looked much healthier than he had three days before. He smiled when he saw all the remarkable creatures beaming up at him. Then his gaze found Peter, and the warmth in his green eyes deepened even more. '_By the love of the stars, but he saw the boy as a little brother.'_

The buzz of enthusiastic conversation had started up again, only to immediately fall off a cliff of silence at the first glimpse of the next figure to enter the grove.

Pixies, fairies, skeaghshees and all the others gaped, seeing the men following the Elf: _PIRATES!_ And leading the procession, head high and shoulders thrown back, was the dreaded figure of the man most feared on the island: Captain James Hook!! Scourge of the Seven Seas. The man whom even Barbeque feared. Hook! The one whose eyes turned red as he _guts _you. A collective tremble, followed by a sharp intake of breath, went through the creatures gathered for a wedding of two of their own.

Wearing his new frock-coat and a hat redolent with gold and white feathers carefully placed over his silky black curls, clad in dark velvet breeches, white silk shirt and blood-red waist-coat, tall black boots, and over all, a golden sash with his shining sword, he was the complete picture of the Pirate King all the stories told of, come to life, striding bold as brass into the clearing. Whispers broke out among the many folk who hadn't heard the whole story yet. _HOW DARE HE?_

A wide grin (of the cockiest sort) leapt across Peter's face when he saw the man. They locked eyes, and Hook nodded shortly in a silent greeting. Peter simply waved back. He met the surprised gaze of the Indian chief and the shaman, and shrugged, explaining, "Kailen and Aurora invited him, too. After all, he _did_ help save the day." This was the closest thing to a compliment that Peter could give _that_ grownup.

For now.

Great Panther allowed the merest of smiles. "Iron-Hand has smoked peace-pipe with us, and he and his men are now allies," he told the gathering. "My heart is glad that after the danger has passed, Iron-Hand does not return his old behavior." Great Panther raised his eyebrow significantly at the captain.

Peter cocked his head at his new friend. "Could be. If it gets too boring around here, I can goad him into a fury pretty much any time I want," Peter giggled, and earned a shocked look from his copper-skinned friends. Hook ignored him, and proceeded with Giliath through the crowd, exchanging words with the gleeful Hobgoblins, stopping before the chief and shaman, and greeting them respectfully.

The pirate-captain turned toward Peter and surveyed his appearance. The boy wore his usual leaf trousers, but he was clean as the sky after a summer thunder shower, his hair still a little bit damp. He wore a cape around his shoulders. A new cape, made of a dark, rich olive-green wool. Hook was absolutely certain he knew exactly where it came from.

"Gargoyles and grundiwigs, it not only steals from my ship, but now displays it in my presence."

Peter propped his hands in his hips and gave him a cocky smile. "Why should it rot in your hold instead of being used for what it was made: clothing?"

Hook lifted one brow and shook his head. "So we have another thing in common: we both take that what we want without asking."

The eternal boy chuckled. "Doesn't make me a pirate."

"No, far from it – little thief," he grumbled and looked around. "Where is our pretty, miniature grouch?"

"Getting herself ready," Peter sighed, before he whispered conspiratorially: "Girls! It's always the same with them." He gave Tiger-Lily a sheepish look, who immediately cleared her throat pointedly. "Present company excepted," he added hastily.

"Oooh's" and "ahhhh's" attracted the attention of the little group to another side of the clearing. Here came the Fairy-Queen with her consort, and the Lord of the pixies – side by side; an historical event, to be sure. Never had these two species ever exchanged a civil word. But the feud was set aside when they faced the deadly danger that had threatened them all, the first steps were taken toward an uneasy peace. And now, as one of their own cut covenant with one the other, an unbreakable alliance would be formed that day, an alliance all of the primitive folk understood more deeply than we can imagine. This covenant would force them to grow toward something more far-reaching, sweeter, stronger, than wary acceptance.

One day soon. Giliath sent up a silent prayer for the future of the fairies and the pixies.

Gracefully, Queen Niam sparkled in the air; her long golden hair waving in the slanting sunlight, looking like the sun itself. She wore a white dress, woven of flower-leaves and decorated with something that seemed to be made from moon-beams. Her king and consort was clad in similar clothes, only he wore leggings under and a tunic over it. Both were so bright it was difficult to make out the details of their apparel.

Lord Gagdh was no less regal than the fairy-couple. Wearing a scarlet cape over his white and brown clothes, with a little crown on his chaotic red hair, and holding a jeweled scepter in his right hand, he was every bit a king.

Their arrival was accompanied by jubilant cheers that echoed through the Ancient Forest until the Green Masters shuddered, leaves tossing where there was no wind. They were unaccustomed to so much _noise_, spending their lives in the eons past with the silence and patience of the trees. It was enough, however, to entice the hidden deer and rabbits out of their thickets and holes, and the gathering was joined by furry faces peering through leaves to learn – what could be happening in their woods?

The setting in the grove was both vast and intimate, allowing the attendance of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of small guests. No one had ever performed a census on a child's laughter, and its progeny lined every surface about them with many-hued points of light. The circle around the stone allowed everyone to see and appreciate the varied faces of everyone else at the ceremony.

Tinker Bell darted through the air, bowed before her queen, whispered hastily in her ear, and flew then to Great Panther, gesticulating wildly in the direction of Hook and Giliath. The shaman listened closely and smiled, this time, a real smile. He raised his brown arm, and boomed in his practiced baritone:

"The time … is now!" he announced, seeing the pixie procession coming proudly through the crowd – Kailen in their middle. The little troublemaker looked far more dignified than anyone in their little group had seen him yet, walking straight to the central altar, a huge stone in the middle of the clearing, and was covered with a moon-colored cloth, covered with flowers. He wore silver trousers, a silver tunic and a green cap on his tuff of hair. Though you couldn't tell, and he would NEVER have admitted it, his mouth was dry as the proverbial old bone, and his stomach was turning somersaults. He looked around, smiled a bit, then sighed in relief when he saw Peter, who winked at him.

"Take your seats!" Great Panther instructed the men and Elf. "The groom has arrived." Next he raised both hands to stop the chattering. "My friends, a little less noise, now!" he called and gradually silence descended over the clearing – interrupted by a low relieved groan. "That is like warm rain for my poor ears!" sighed Dagda, which made the others laugh aloud, surprised that even the ancient tree spirits could be unnerved somehow. Peter stood at his side; preparing himself for the momentous event.

And still no sign of Wendy.

When the wedding guests had achieved a measure of decorum, the shaman started once again. "The groom has arrived and this ceremony will soon begin." He bade Kailen forward, and the pixie, with stiff face and wooden legs, far more nervous than he dare let on, hobbled nearer and stood pole-faced before the altar.

"Where is she?" he peeped and Peter winked again.

"Girls always take more time," he repeated.

Hook was seated beside Giliath on velvet cushion on a fallen tree trunk. His men stood arranged behind him. You and I might have chuckled behind our hands when we saw that they really had tried to clean up, every stitch of their clothing scrubbed clean and patched. Hook gave Peter a sour expression. "Pan keeps this up, he'll find himself at that altar!"

Giliath laughed softly. "No, Captain. Peter is the essence of youth. He will never grow up."

Hook snorted good-naturedly. "I'm sure you're right, Master Elf."

At the sudden whispering from the other side of the clearing, James' eyes widened as if they wanted to pop out of his head. There, in the air, stood the bride, clad in a dress made of rose-petals and behind her was her maiden of honor: the Wendy Lady.

It was as if the Elvish dress Glawar had given her had been made anew, and the soft breeze made the long sleeves and layered silken skirts dance. A coronet of white flowers sat on her hair, which fell in waves down her shoulders and back. She had braided it when it was wet and had let it dry this way. Now it was loose, and some of the fairies had tied white and blue flowers in the strands. Her blue-gray eyes shimmered with excitement in a face that shone. She had never been in a wedding before, and, as she looked about the clearing and saw all the wedding guests of every kind and age, a healthy blush lay on her cheeks. She smiled at Aurora, who fluttered nervously, and then her eyes found the green-eyed boy.

Peter swallowed hard, trying to collect himself. Yes, they'd had to wait for her, but the result was breathtaking.

Giliath's eyes slid from the petite vision before him to the tall rigid figure seated beside him, gaping quite unconsciously at the child who looked as if an angel had just descended from the heavens. With eyes big as saucers, Hook's glance was fixed on Wendy, and it was not until the children all started to giggle that he realized his indignity, and hastily looked away_. Brimstone and gall, he really must learn to control himself again!_ It was then he noticed that the giggling continued, and wondered – but no, they were laughing at their young leader. He smirked as well, seeing the arrogant youth humbled, goggling at the girl as if she were one of the seven wonders of the world.

Great Panther nudged the boy firmly with his elbow, and Peter came to himself again. He blinked several times – and turned red from head to toe. Lowering his gaze and suddenly finding his feet to be very interesting, he wished fleetingly for a hole to jump into.

"Little White Eagle, do not hide your adoration. Brave Feather is the welcome greeting of eternal spring," the shaman said in a low voice, making Peter blush even more. It was only as he heard the mockery in Hook's chuckle that he regained his proud stance, and met the gaze of the forget-me-not-blue eyes. In defiance, he sneered at the pirate and turned his attention to the bride, who had eyes only for Kailen.

Finally the music started, played on such strange instruments as you and I have never seen by an orchestra of pixies, music of surpassing tenderness, and the fairies began to sing. Aurora took a deep breath, she swayed forward, accompanied by Wendy and Tinker Bell, who was her second maiden. Kailen had eyes only for his bride, his dark eyes growing wider by the second. As the rose-fairy reached him at last, he swallowed two times and said hoarsely: "Beautiful you are!"

Aurora blushed and gave him a shy wink, before she took his hand.

Wendy moved to stand beside Peter, while Tink and Kailen's best friend, Muddle, were at their right. The eternal boy glanced at Wendy, cleared his throat and murmured: "You, too!"

"What?" the girl whispered back, and Peter nodded toward Kailen. "What he said about Aurora, goes for you, too." A new blush crept into his face as Wendy pecked him on his cheek. Then Great Panther stepped forward, raised his arms in a blessing, and the little ones finished their song. Silence spread over the wedding grove. Somehow Peter and Wendy's fingers somehow got tangled, both they didn't realized it, being so caught up in the lovely drama before them.

But two others noticed, and the green-eyed monster rose in them for a moment: Tink and Hook. But then, as the shaman started to speak, and these feelings were pushed aside for the moment, their attention drawn again back to the tiny couple about to be married.

"We have gathered together, these few races of our world, to celebrate the breaking of darkness and blooming of new life, a new beginning for Neverland, a new miracle sent by the Spirit and the stars. This miracle is truly the gift of the Great Spirit, who is the embodiment of the strongest element. We cannot see it, hear it, taste it, it injures and it heals, it calms and agitates, arouses and delights. It captures us in its freedom. The Great Spirit can melt the heart of steel, build bridges over the vast abyss. This miracle can dissolve hate, move the whole world." He paused to frown at the tiny couple before him, who beheld him wide-eyed and fascinated. His words had opened their imaginations, and they hung on every syllable. "The vows you are about to speak are not words, but bonds. They must come from your soul, not just from your mouth."

Great Panther had a LOT to tell them. As mentioned earlier, Indians, as a rule, are quiet, but when they have a point to make, they use many words. With dignity, the shaman spoke of life, of promises and love, and the guests listened, hardly breathing, taking all of his teaching to heart – well, nearly all the guests. As you might have guessed, several of the pirates started to doze off. Smee almost jumped out of his boots, receiving a none-too-gentle elbow from Skye (and a dark glare from Hook), about the time Great Panther was closing.

He now asked most important question of a wedding:

"Will you, Kailen, take Aurora as your wife? Will you love, cherish, protect her? Will you pledge her your truth and faithfulness? Will you be her mate when rich or poor, when sick or healthy, in good times and in bad, as long as you both live? If so, answer 'I will.' "

"I will!" His voice was far too high, but the smile he gave his bride was so full of adoration and affection that even Dagda sighed deeply – something, he hadn't done for a very long time.

Great Panther turned toward the rose-fairy: "And so I ask thee, Aurora, will you take Kailen as your husband? Will you love, cherish, protect him? Will you pledge him your truth and faithfulness? Will you be his mate when rich or poor, when sick or healthy, in good times and in bad, as long as you both live? If so, answer 'I will.' "

A short clear jingle was heard all over the grove, as one tiny hand gripped for the small green one that still trembled a bit.

The Indian shaman looked around: "Is there anyone here who has the right to prevent this wedding, if so he should speak now – or be silent for ever." He paused for a few very long seconds, his gaze drifting over the guests, but no one dared to speak up.

"So be it. The High Spirit accepts your vows. I declare you husband and wife."

The fairy and the pixie looked at each other, while Peter's eyes slid over to Wendy beneath his lashes. He was surprised to see a tear rolling down her cheek and he tightened his fingers around hers. She lifted her eyes to him and smiled crookedly; deeply touched by the ceremony. The boy opened his mouth to whisper something, when suddenly a loud cheer erupted from the guests. Kailen and Aurora kissed in a tight embrace. Peter shifted his expression to a cockeyed grin. "Thimbling is really the sport of the day, isn't it?"

"As you say!" Wendy nodded, and suddenly was pressing her lips to his cheek. Tink shook her tiny blonde head, and Peter almost blushed again as his friends the most of the Fairy-Folk screeched with delight. The newly-joined couple in front of the altar were still lost in each other; bathed in a rose-colored light.

Wendy smiled. "I think Kailen and Aurora should be the first to dance," she offered. Peter scratched his head. "I can show you," she offered, and each of the boys jabbed the one standing next to him.

"I know how to dance. You already showed me!" he stammered, pulling back. "But first we should have some cake and--"

He got no further, because, as if the kiss were the signal, guests had swarmed about them, cheering for Aurora and Kailen. The Hobgoblins already spread small blankets out and some others gathered the cake and additional food.

And such a festival of food! How can I describe the feast they had brought together? The fairies had donated a variety of flower-foods, with flavors the humans had never tasted before. The pixies brought mostly nuts and seeds, and some sweet cakes made from ground acorn hearts and honey, small as cookies, which were a enjoyed by all. The hobgoblins brought items Hook was certain had been stolen from an abundance of sources, but the jams, jerky and the like were all quite tasty. Giliath had opened a new source of magic and donated many large jugs of delicious golden wine, as well as sweetbreads. The pirates had ventured into the wilds to hunt, and given them savory cuts of meat. Even the Green Masters provided sweet roots, truffles, pine nuts, tubers and many more items from the bounty of the forests. Baskets, hung from branches, creaked and groaned with the weight of the abundance of fruit – apples, oranges, melons, grapes, bananas, durians, lemons, kiwi, star fruit, pears, limes, figs, dates, persimmons, plums, quince and pomegranate, cherries – well, you get the idea. The Indians even had insects coated with a chocolate-like substance called carob, mixed with a sweet pulp. Tootles actually declared that these treats were his favorite of the day, so naturally, all the boys had to try them as well. Merfolk had left delicacies on the shore, and the Indians, experienced in steaming and seasoning, prepared the flavorful treats born of salt water and muted sunlight. The skeaghshees and the will-o-the-wisps each brought their own favorite extravagances, which, for some unexplained reason, the others had very little to do with. Go figure.

But the cake! Oh, the wedding cake – light as a clear morning, sweet as honeycomb, pretty as a butterfly on its first flight, and big enough for everyone to get a piece. Where did it come from? No one really asked, but it had a lingering flavor of a certain magical portal …

The tiny orchestra played, and, chattering, laughing, harrumphing, squeaking, the Fairy-Folk had a party such as has not been seen there before or since.

* * *

As the evening wore on, fairies hung strands of tiny lamps from the branches around the clearing and a small bonfire was lit near the center, chasing away the shadows. The cold buffet, if you could call it so, was spread, honey-ale, wine and sweet spring water were consumed a-plenty, the pixie-band was still playing (even if there were several of them missing, they had begun to trade off playing and partying) and couples were dancing.

Wendy had danced with Bumblyn (by holding him on her arms, his tail about her waist), with her brothers, then persuaded Giliath who still limped a bit. Now – finally – Peter came to her; hiding something behind his back.

"May I have this dance, Milady?" he asked politely and bowed as if he'd been practicing this motion for years.

The girl nodded, eyes shining, and extended her hand to him. "It would be my pleasure, Sir." Then her eyes grew wide as he brought his other hand from behind his back; handing her a bouquet of flowers. "Peter!" she whispered, clearly taken by surprise.

He smiled uneasily. "I… I have to… confess something," he murmured. As Wendy's tears had fallen during the ceremony, the boy remembered his promise and the lost pearl. "I… I promised you to give you back your tear, when the enemy was defeated, but … I ... I lost it. Up, on the Mount of Not-No-Return." He sighed and lowered his gaze, still holding the flowers.

Wendy stood, hands at her sides, looking at Peter's contrite posture. She had almost forgotten about the tear, but that Peter – of all people – remembered and even tried to make up for it going missing touched her girlish heart deeply. She took the flowers with a curtsy, then lay her hand on his shoulder. "Peter, you said it helped you while you were fleeing S'Hadh and his creatures." The boy nodded and so she continued: "I gave it to you to protect you. And it has done that. You're safe now as is Neverland. That is all I wanted. I really would much rather have you alive before me instead of a pearl in my hand and knowing you had died."

Peter looked up at her, eyes wide. "That's almost exactly what Hook said," he blurted.

Wendy looked perplexed. "Hook?"

"Yes, when I got the soap and the brush for you, I saw that the pearl was gone, and he told me that you would rather lose that than me." The slightest bit nervous he pointed at the flowers. "He even told me to give you the flowers. Are they really enough?"

Her head whirled. _Had Peter really asked Hook for advice? _ Sweet Lord, the changes that had come about were almost too great. Giving the love of her childish heart a shining smile, she nodded, breathed in the sweet scent of the flowers and answered gently: "Thank you so much, Peter. They are beautiful."

Promptly the boy grinned broadly, gripped her other hand and pulled her with him into the air most enthusiastically. "I knew it! Come on, Wendy-Lady, dance with me!"

Giggling, they held the bouquet with their hands, while she wrapped her other arm carefully around him. For a moment they glanced hesitantly at each other, feeling the unfamiliarity of this closeness, but then the boy started to move in the air, following the rhythm of the music below – and Wendy did the same. Feeling freer than the first time, she threw her head back and began to laugh joyfully; relishing in the evening-air and the eternal boy in her arms who had changed her life completely.

And below, Giliath smiled knowingly, and offered a rather frustrated Hook another glass of wine. He knew that loneliness was creeping over the mortal man, once again damned to watch the children dancing in the air, accompanied by fairies and bathed in the silver moonlight from above …

TBC…

So, the story almost done. Only once chapter and the epilogue have we still to come and then, I am sorry, this fiction has reached its end.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I would love to know, what you're thinking of it.

Until later

Yours,

Lywhn


	44. Other realms

Dear Readers,

thank you so much for the last reviews. Now it's almost done: this is the last chapter, there is only an epilogue left I will publish after Eastern.

I hope you will enjoy this one,

kind regards,

yours Lywhn

**43. Chapter – Other realms**

When morning finally came, Neverland lay in deep slumber. The wedding-party had lasted until the ebony sky began to pale in the east, and most of the guests were now sated with dance and food and laughter, and on their way home. Except for the children, several of the Indians and Tinker Bell. The pirates bade farewell after their commander had ordered them back to the ship, and the Fairy-Folk had continued dancing, and later, fallen asleep.

Peter lay between Dagda's roots, covered by one of the hobgoblins' blankets, and protected by the heavy branches of the Green Master; Tink resting by his shoulder, sound asleep. Wendy had rolled in Peter's cape nearby, Bumblyn snuggling close to her back. The other children were scattered wherever there was room for them among the thick roots, and Tiger-Lily was curled up beside John, her head on his arm. The Green Master had vanished within the trees, now showing his usual appearance as a tree. Several Hobgoblins snored around the perimeter –their stomachs were fuller than ever before – and the members of the orchestra spread over their tiny seats and across the instruments, snoring and peeping.

Something damp and cold touched Peter's cheek, and, grumbling, he waved it away. But it returned, and was a moment later replaced by a something warm and wet. The boy grunted softly and turned away, but that didn't work, because the thing followed him.

Tink awoke from the movement, sleepily lifted her head – and started up, jingling when she saw the furry face that bent over her and Peter. A tail at the other end started to wag enthusiastically, and the end with the cold nose whimpering playfully. The fairy shook her head – what a way to start a day! – and waved the wolf pup away. But it was no use, because the puppy started yipping and jumped on the boy's back; sending Tink flying off, in search of a quieter place to curl up.

Peter started up. "What… what is it?" he asked sleepily, looked around and found the wolf nosing him, wagging and cocking its head. The boy groaned. "I'd love to play with you, little Lobo, but couldn't you wait until I wake up?"

The whelp lowered his chest and raised his hind quarters, then barked again – a classic request to play. The eternal boy sighed and glanced warily about. "Where's your mother or brothers and sisters? You can't be here all alone. And do they know you're here? Only days ago, they were helping that old creepy wizard, and now you're playing 'let's be friends'?" Again the creature whined with pleasure, and wagged even more.

"Peter, what's going on?" Wendy's sleepy head rose, turned toward him, and grimacing, he pointed at the young animal.

"He's trying to make up for being on the wrong side --"

"Oh, how sweet!" Wendy cried, sitting up, and reached for the little wolf and pulled it on her lap in one movement.

"! Can't a poor Hobgoblin get a good sleep!" Bumblyn rose groggily, found himself nose-to-nose with a wolf … and leaped backward with a scream that was probably heard all the way to the halls of the Black Castle.

The scream brought immediate results.

"What's the matter?" "Where are the Goblins?" "New harpies?" "Take your foot out of my belly!" "Hey, you put yourself in under there!" "Is breakfast ready?" "Could you all just shut up?"

"You be getting off, you enormous human!"

"Oh… sorry, pixie, I didn't see you."

"Big ones never see us small ones and why?"

"Hmpf … that is exactly the question every child has from time to time."

"Oooh … my back. What an awful mattress."

"Of course it's not, it's a root."

"My back is even worser."

"Michael, for the last time: not worser but worse!"

"Shut it and … is that Tiger-Lily beside you, John?"

"If you ever dare to say anything about this to Mother, I swear I'll--"

"Tiger-Lily greets her hero. She hopes you slept well?"

"Ah…of… of course.

Peter yawned largely, then grinned, hearing his friends waking with their daily bickering. Most of this seemed to be directed toward John, who sat red-faced beside the lovely girl and seemed to look for a mouse-hole to vanish in. She was looking at him shyly, as if somewhat abashed about finding herself in such intimate repose.

Suddenly the a light sound of galloping hooves approached, next moment a small herd of deer raced through the clearing; leaping lightly over the children, pixies, Hobgoblins and other small members of the Fairy-Folk, the last one clipping Peter on his sore leg on its flight across. "Hey, watch it! That hurt!"

"What's the matter with them?" Wendy asked startled; pressing the cub protectively to her chest.

"The family of that 'sweet' creature is on the hunt," a male voice informed her. Looking over her shoulder she saw Giliath rising from the place where he had remained the night before to watch over the children and the tiny inhabitants of the magical island. He smiled and bowed gently in the direction of the girl, then lifted a warning hand. "Be quiet now, my friends. The wolves are simply looking for breakfast." He glanced at Wendy. "Put the little one down beside you, Wendy. His mother might misunderstand your actions."

Giving him a quick rub behind the ears, Wendy placed the whelp beside her, whereupon it promptly climbed back into her lap, snuggling closer.

And then the pack was upon them! Multiple shades of grey and black, golden eyed, lean bodied. With great leaps, they poured through the clearing and paused as they perceived the others there. The largest of them took two tentative steps and sniffed, looking straight at Wendy and the cub, which now climbed from her lap and trotted cheerfully to the alpha-wolf. The male nudged it, then shoved the cub in the direction of a female. She picked it up by the scruff of the neck.

"Hey, he came to us!" Peter exclaimed to the mute yellow eyes.

The wolf growled, glanced back at his companions, and took off again after the deer, followed by the female.

Giliath breathed a sigh of relief. "That was narrow, my friends. Wild animals will many times not welcome back the young when touched by humans." It was a gentle scold toward Wendy, who lowered her head.

"Huh, sometimes human mothers won't take back theirs, either," Peter murmured, eyes downcast; remembering too well the closed nursery window when he tried to come home, the new child in her arms.

"What's about breakfast?" Tootles piped up, which earned him moans and laughter.

"I think we'd better start heading home – or our poor Tootles will starve," Peter joked; rising to his feet, offering Wendy a hand. "And I still have something to teach you." She looked at him quizzically, but he only winked at her. "Never again say my memory is short! I'll bet you don't remember what I promised you in London only a few days ago."

Wendy blinked, then her mouth opened in surprise. "You're really going to teach me how to swim?"

He bowed: "Of course, Milady. 'Twill be a great pleasure for me." He glanced toward Giliath, "Want to come along?"

The Elf shook his head, smiling. "I will go to the Indian village. That is, if the daughter of the Indians will guide me to her home."

Tiger-Lilly bowed her head. "Tiger-Lilly is honoured to show the warrior the way to our village."

Giliath smiled. "Thank you, Princess." His gaze returned to Peter: "Great Panther and I have much to discuss." Furrows appeared on Peter's forehead, but he raised a hand. "Do not fret, little brother, there are no threats near at the moment. But we told what we knew about the future descendent of Great Panther, which is a blessing for you and Neverland. Otherwise you wouldn't have known what awaited you as the deadly winter began to cover your world. That future is now the past, but there is always more to come. Thalion and I spoke about it before he and my sister left. We think it best if we will break our silence once again, and advise Great Panther of what will one day come."

Peter's eyes narrowed, "Some new threat?" he asked, his hunger for adventure re-awakening.

Giliath laughed, ruffling Peter's curls. "Barely out of bandages but ready for new adventures. Really, Peter Pan, you're a miracle."

The boy beamed. "Thank you. Could you now answer my question – in simple, easy words?" he teased, and the Elf chuckled.

"There are many kinds of threats, and many 'threats' can develop into new ways of life. And, as we all know, you welcome threats. Otherwise life would be boring, wouldn't it?"

Peter nodded. "Aye. And I _hate_ being bored!" He smirked. "Maybe I can find a new way to annoy Hook again."

"PETER!" Wendy stared at him, shocked. "You already promised me a new adventure! Perhaps you should see that one through first"

The boy rolled his eyes. "Yes, _Mother_!" His eyes widened, as the girl stepped toward him, eyes blazing. Hastily he lifted both hands. "Peace, Wendy Lady. How shall I teach you to swim if you kill me now?" He grinned at her winningly.

Wendy moaned and rubbed her temple as if she had a headache. "You're impossible, Peter Pan."

The Prince of Neverland waggled his eyebrows. "And you like it."

As Wendy turned pink, everyone in earshot laughed openly and affectionately.

******************

It was still forenoon when the children reached the southern part of Neverland – almost exactly the place where Wendy met Hook the first time after her return. She could see nearby the cliff where the pirates sought shelter when the tidal wave came, and the broken palms lining the shore.

Peter, with several blankets under his arm, pointed off to the left and together they marched along the beach. The hot sand was soft beneath their feet and the warm wind tugged at their clothes and hair. Palms and pines edged the beach as only they do in Neverland, coconut-palms leaning from the steady winds – some so low you could use them as benches. Between them grew a variety of grasses and bushes with sweet-smelling flowers, transforming the shore into a small taste of paradise.

Finally Peter stopped, looked around and smiled satisfied. "Here's the best place!" he declared and started to spread out the blankets. "Everybody in the water!" he called, signalling the boys to fling off their hats and shirts. A moment later, the boys wore only their trousers, ready to race each other to the warm surf.

Almost all of them.

John eyed the waves with some chagrin. Wendy was nowhere to be seen. Bumblyn – still groggy from the party – had curled himself into a little ball and instantly fallen asleep again. (He had chosen not to accompany his friends and cousins back to the Black Castle, but to stay near Wendy a little while longer.)

John gulped as he watched the waves breaking onto the beach. "S'alright, John, it won't bite!" Curley grinned.

"To be sure?" the eldest Darling-son scoffed, giving his spectacles a push up on his nose.

Michael, wearing the trousers from the Indians, scratched his head. "I want to learn how to swim!"

"WHAAAAAT?" That came from every mouth – except Peter's. "You hate water more than any cat!" John gasped.

"You make more noise than the rest of us put together when it's time for your bath!" Nibs added.

"Correct. Getting you to bathe is hard labour!" Slightly added.

"Sometimes I pity poor Nana!" One of the Twins confirmed.

Michael stuck out his tongue, lifted an offended chin and stalked down the beach toward the sea. "This is no bathtub, you morons!" he cried.

"Language, Michael!"

Wendy's voice came from somewhere off the beach, and Peter whirled around. "Where are you?" he called.

"Three guesses – and don't you dare come near until I am done!"

Peter blinked several times and turned toward Nibs. "What's the matter with HER?"

"She brought her swimsuit her mother bought her, and is now changing into it."

"So why can't I go see her?" Peter asked, clearly confused by this behavior. Tinker Bell sighed and shook her head. Sometimes that boy was really daft.

"Because young girls who are raised by loving parents know they are valuable, and valuable things are shielded from careless or hostile eyes," a warm voice said.

The boys all turned as one, seeing one of the Indians approaching. He held a small leather garment over his arm, and saluted them with the other. Peter did the same. "Hallo Grey Bear. What can I do for you?"

The stolid warrior smiled with his eyes. "I am here by request of Tiger-Lilly, who desires to give her dear friend Brave Feather a gift, to wear for swimming."

Peter frowned. "Something to _wear_ in the water?" He shook his head. "Girls!"

John looked at the suit sceptically. "What is it?"

Grey Bear, a young man, older than the lost boys, nearly smiled. "Our women wear these when they're out fishing."

Peter shrugged and harrumphed. "She's somewhere over there. But, careful – she's on her guard," Peter grumbled, and plopped on the blanket; then asked, "How did you find us?"

The tall copper-skinned brave pointed toward the trees. "A little fairy told me," he said, winking at John.

Peter glowered at Tinker Bell, who shrugged with her tiny shoulders. "Fairies are such tattle tales!" Peter sighed, and ignored the protest of his little friend.

Grey Bear approached the bushes and called out to Wendy, who had been listening. Suddenly one pale arm emerged and, smiling, the Indian warrior placed the clothes into the open palm. "Thank you!" Wendy said. A moment later, she exclaimed "Ooooooh yes!" then, "My deepest thanks to Tiger-Lilly. I am certain that this … suit will suit me much better than this one I brought with me!"

"I will give her your message, Brave Feather." Smiling now, Grey Bear left by the way he came and vanished back into the woods.

All the boys continued to wait impatiently, but Wendy did not show a toe or a lock of hair. "Alright, lads, waiting's over!" Peter decided, dropped the knife belt and pipes onto the blanket and darted toward the bubbling surf. "Last one in is a codfish!" he cried and threw himself into the waves, followed by the rest of the shouting boys. Screaming, laughing and roughhousing, the children played in the warm water. There was such a clamour of children's voices that the sea-gulls stopped screeching, and searched for a quieter place to forage.

Wendy was fastening her hair into a long thick braid, and tying the end with a leather cord. "Careful, Michael!" Wendy shouted, but of course he didn't hear. He'd never heard that you never turn your back on the ocean, and soon one large wave was tumbling him back up on the sand, puffing and blowing. Instantly Slightly was beside him and yanked him upright. "Are you satisfactory?" he asked, as Michael shook the water and sand from his ears.

"That tastes awful!" Michael spat out sea water.

"It's for swimming, not for tasting," Nibs teased and was answered by a flush. Michael responded by splashing him, grinning. "Hey!" Nibs protested, wiping his face. "I get you for that!" he screamed and started toward Michael, who jumped backwards laughing. The next wave carried him surfing toward shore, and triumphantly he cried: "I can swim! I can swim! Just look, I…" He got no further, and went down again. Sighing Nibs dived after him, while the others just laughed.

Wendy, watching through a break in the leaves, had to giggle. No, she needn't worry about her little brother. The others were taking good care of him. She looked down at her garment. Well, it certainly was more comfortable than the one her mother bought her, but it was somehow ... scandalizing – if she were in London and not in Neverland. After a moment, that last reason tipped the scales. Collecting her courage, she tossed her braid to her back, left the bushes and walked down the beach, dropped her clothes on another blanket and approached the water, her eyes fixed on Peter, who was in a ferocious water-fight with Nibs and Michael.

Finally Peter looked – and froze. He stared, forgetting to duck. A large wave broke over him, and Nibs and Michael cheered in delight. It wasn't easy to euchre Peter, and they relished in their victory. Then Nibs started to cough, pointing towards Wendy. Curly turned around, too – and his mouth fell open.

"If Mother could see you…"

"And Aunt Millicent … she'd faint on the spot!"

The other boys were also staring at the girl, and Tinker Bell made a face, not pleased at all by Peter's reaction. The boy had finally wiped the water from his eyes, and was staring at Wendy. Quite oddly, his heart began to race – like yesterday during the wedding ceremony – and an odd warmth went through him. The outfit Tiger-Lilly had given to Wendy was a short skirt and shorts (more a loincloth than anything else), and a short top that ended at her navel. The clothes were decorated with short fringes and embroidery, and were only slightly darker than Wendy's skin, almost matching the colour of her hair. They allowed her more freedom of movement than anything she'd ever worn before, and she loved the feeling.

Peter took a deep breath, trying to calm his runaway pulse. He liked her nightgown, and the dress Glawar had given her had been lovely. But, truthfully, this was his favourite, and if he had any say, she'd wear this all the time. He bit his lip. This was still his Wendy-lady coming down the beach, but she had changed. He couldn't say exactly what the difference was, but there she stood. And as their eyes met, she gave him the smile she reserved for only him, and his heart beat quickened.

Wendy was very conscious of Peter's attention. In the light of his unconsciously adoring gaze, her female pride awoke – probably for the first time. Never before she had been aware of her own body, but in this moment, she felt it. She knew these clothes were out of question for a young English lady. Her mother would have been shocked if she could see her now.

But she wasn't in England. She was in the land of eternal childhood, and there was a difference here. And, as she had to admit, it felt really good. For the first time, he could feel the soft wind on the skin of her belly, her arms and legs, and as she strode into the surf, an intense happiness spread through her. "I am here for my lesson!" she turned toward Peter, who was jolted from his state of bewilderment.

"Uhhhhmm, what?" was all he could say and Wendy smiled quietly.

"Do you think this will do?" she asked, and Peter stammered, "Er, uhhh … yes… of course. I mean, that looks great … and uh… and it's practical… and… yes, good for swimming… ummm…" His mouth clapped shut when he realized he was rambling. The other boys began to giggle.

Wendy stood, bright sea water bubbling and swirling about her ankles, her knees, looking like Venus rising from the sea. She bit her lip and smiled at him shyly. For a moment, they just looked at each other, then, suddenly, the eternal boy cleared his throat, grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him. "You're right. Time for that lesson!" Before she could reply, she was hip deep in the water and the retreating wave was pulling at her legs. Instinctively she clung to her friend, who grinned. "Don't be afraid, it won't swallow you," he teased and watched a wave roll toward them. Both children gave a little jump to keep their heads above water, then the wave had passed and their feet touched the sand again. The next wave rolled through, and then another, and Wendy realized that this was all like the rhythm of a song. As each wave came, the ones before it swept underneath and back out to sea, until the girl was able to catch the tempo and moved with it.

Then, two large waves came from opposite directions toward her and Peter. They broke over the two children, knocking the girl off her feet. She opened her mouth to scream, and it was immediately filled with warm salty water. She couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything clear and nausea swept over her, along with the memory of the tidal wave. She couldn't breathe then, didn't know where she was, or up from down. And this time no strong arm held her and no large body was pressed against her to keep her from being swept away!

Then a small strong hand gripped her upper arm and pulled. The next moment she was on her feet and breathing again. Gasping, sputtering and scared, she wrapped her arms around Peter, who was laughing. But the boy grew serious when he felt his friend shaking. "Hey, it's only water," he said, uncertain what to do. To be embraced by her was … nice (to say the least), and the fact that they were wearing almost nothing gave him an alarming feeling deep in his soul, but then his urge to protect his Wendy-lady surfaced, and hesitantly he slid his arms around her. "Ev …everything is all right," he mumbled and patted her softly on the back. He wasn't used such proximity, but he liked the odd warm sensation going through him.

"You call _this_ 'swimming lessons'?" a youthful voice called and, next moment, Peter blushed. With a protesting shout the Prince of Neverland let go of Wendy and turned around, only to see Nibs mocking him.

"You!" the leader of the Lost Boys called, as Slightly splashed him again. "You asked for it!" he called, but Wendy took his wrist in a firm grip. He looked down at her, surprised.

Wendy's face was pleading, "Please, don't leave me here alone," she said, her eyes still large.

Peter looked at her, somehow grasping her plea, then shrugged. "Later, boys!" he called over his shoulder. "I have to teach this lady enjoy the sea without drowning." He ducked a quick splash from the girl, then took her hand again. "Push yourself up and lift your legs behind you – like you do when you fly," he ordered. Then he steadied her at her waist as she lay on the water. "Don't be afraid, I won't let you fall," the boy whispered, and a feeling of security rose up in her. "Now paddle your legs and stroke with your arms like you saw others do," he ordered and Wendy obeyed again. She soared on the sea, the warm water stroking her skin, loose hair dancing around her face. The old fear was melting away as Peter's hands remained at her waist, holding her, keeping her safe. If there was one soul in the world she trusted, it was Peter, and in the simplicity of trusting him, enjoying his nearness, and experiencing the freedom of the sea, she was soon swimming.

And so were Michael and John, as coached by the other boys. They were all cavorting in the water, and relishing their new abilities. Wendy felt weightless, as if she were riding on the wind's back, saying funny things to the stars. She swam on her back, and even if water got in her face, she managed it. Peter, who remained by her side, grinned proudly. "Got it?" he asked with a wink

The girl nodded joyfully. "Indeed! It really is easy."

Peter's eyes turned to the south, where the cliffs and reefs stood in the tide, spray dancing around them. Soon now the dolphins would return from the open sea, and Peter intended to keep his promise. "Now, the last lesson," he said, swimming like a frog beside her, "diving!"

Wendy's eyes widened. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "But… why?" she asked in a small voice, still uncomfortable with the thought of being underwater again.

"Because you want to see the coral and follow the dolphins," he answered gleefully. "Take my hand and don't let go. I'll be with you." He took a deep breath and held it, waiting until Wendy did the same, then pulled her with him under water.

At first, she was tense and uncertain, and released her breath too quickly, but after a while she got used to being underwater. It stung when she opened her eyes for the first time, but she didn't want Peter to best her, so she kept it up until she could swim underwater with open eyes and was even see things.

Finally Peter, satisfied with her progress, suddenly rose into the air, carrying a yelping Wendy with him. "It's too far to swim," he said by way of explanation, as the girl clung to him, one arm around his neck. "Next time, tell me before we take to the air!" she grumbled, then laughed at the faces of the dumbfounded boys watching them from below.

"See you later!" she called, laughing as the eternal boy headed toward the reefs; a grumbling fairy on their tails. They reached the southern part of Neverland and carefully, Peter let Wendy drop into the sea again, which was dark and deep here. He followed with a plunge, sending white spray all around him. Wendy shook her head, wiping salt-water out of her eyes. Typical!

Peter re-surfaced near her, shook his head like a wet puppy. "Come on down, it's a good day for pretty things!" He pulled her down with him, and Wendy just managed to take a deep breath before she found herself beside her friend in an underwater paradise.

And oh, it was so worth the effort of learning! Sunlight sparkled like gold dust in the blue depths, illuminating a world she'd never imagined. Directly beneath her mountains of coral built strange, colourful shapes, tiny tufts of colour, tossing in the ebb and flow of the ever-moving surf, shimmering reds, whites and oranges. Some reminded the girl of delicate fans, worthy to cool an emperor's favourite daughter at her coming-out ball. Others were knotted branches of red and pink, further along were huge balls with labyrinthine patterns on their surface, looking as if they were coated by thin, gold-brown sequins. And among them all swam fishes in every imaginable colour.

And, oh, the fish! The creatures she saw there! If she were not underwater, she would have gasped at every turn. There were larger ones with black and white stripes and an orange head, others were flat as a plate turned on its edge, gold and black fins pointing high as sails on a clipper ship. Some fishes were yellow and blue, others were simple silver, glistening like moonbeams on a summer night. Crabs of every hue strutted across coral, rock an sand, their claws open, their pop-eyes glaring about them. Two lobsters walked on the sea bed, their bodies brown and red, their long feelers turning to and fro as if with a life of their own.

It was silent here, as in a dream, and the warm water stroked and kneaded the boy and girl like the gentle hands of a mother.

Now in need of breath, the two children returned to the surface, gasping for air. With shining eyes Wendy looked at her little hero and shouted with glee: "That … that was fantastic! Beautiful! A completely different world! Oh Peter, I… I can find no words to describe it!"

Peter grinned. "Wait until the dolphins come. That's even better!"

Again, both dived and then they heard it: the clicks and cackling, whistle and cries. Suddenly a strong whirl grazed Wendy's leg and as she turned, she saw a long, grey shadow vanishing beneath her. Her heartbeat quickened. She knew what that shadow had been.

Something touched her left shoulder and as she turned her head, she looked directly into a large brown eye in a pearl-grey face, and a long snout grinned at her. She almost screeched with joy. Beside her a dolphin leapt from the water, clicked several times, splashed nose first into the clear water, then surfaced again beside her. Without waiting for Peter, the girl followed this amazing creature. The dolphin chirped and laughed as she swam to him and laid a hand on his side. The long snout was placed on her shoulder and without any fear or hesitation, Wendy wrapped her arms around the playful animal, instinctively trusting him. The body of the dolphin was firm and strong, there seemed to be no soft spot, even as the skin grew warm to her touch, it felt like smooth silk that was pulled over a rock. The muscles of dolphin are designed differently than those of humans, and creating an animal three or four times stronger than a man that size could ever be.

An odd sensation, as if someone were stroking her beneath her own skin, flooded Wendy's senses, and then a second dolphin emerged behind her, gaggled, rose out of the water and danced on its fluke, laughing at her.

Peter surfaced beside her and laughed with it. "Already making friends, I see," he snickered, while above them Tinker Bell darted back and forth, dodging the creatures' antics. What was it with humans and dolphins? They were drawn to each other like twins! (You see, dear reader, it was discovered that man and dolphin have a common creator, and many of the same brain functions. How exciting is that??)

"This… this is the most extraordinary experience I've ever had!" Wendy cried, and squeaked as the dolphin, who was holding her above the water, suddenly swam backwards and pulled her along.

Peter started to laugh and shouted, "Don't go too far, or you'll get lost at sea!"

Wendy was busy holding onto her new friend, otherwise she would have tapped her forehead at him. So she only shouted back: "You're making up tales. I'm the storyteller here! Anyway, they would bring me to shooooaaahhhh--" The dolphin dived with her holding on, and the boy grinned.

"Are you quite sure?" he called, even if she couldn't hear him, before he ducked. Another dolphin had jumped over him, splashing him. Giggling he followed the animal and vanished under the water, too.

Tinker Bell sighed – this could take awhile! – and flew to one of the rocks jutting from the sea, settling down there. It seemed they wouldn't be returning to the beach anytime soon. On the beach, she could see the tall, slender figure of Giliath near the water-line. He made himself comfortable on one of the blankets beside the still sleeping Bumblyn. The fairy smiled and lay back, taking a short sun-bath. This was a nice break after all the danger and battles. But she had the sinking feeling that one final, heart-crushing event lay before them all. And she was right.

***************

Even the longest visit must end at some point. You want the other to stay only a little longer, to delay their departure, but duty is one thing you can't ignore. It will whisk those away you wish to keep around you. This is exactly what happened the following day.

Peter, the Lost Boys and Wendy, a sniffling hobgoblin all walked beside Giliath, all unusually quiet, with downcast eyes.

Earlier Tinker Bell had flown to the _Jolly Roger,_ delivering Giliath's request for a longboat, which Hook granted. The Elf had bade farewell to Captain Hook and the pirates that morning. Most of the scallywags had looked exactly as the children did now, as Giliath informed them of his imminent departure. Hook had bid him farewell with stiff formality, but the Elf had seen straight through him. The mortal man kept so long now at this island's shores, was cheerless, as well. They had met as opponents, Giliath fearing for Peter's life when he found the boy in the custody of the pirate. They had become wary allies, and finally the Elf had come to trust the man with powerful secrets, which Hook used to – literally -- save the day (and Peter). The commander had earned his respect, and it wasn't easy for Giliath to leave him behind.

The final night in Neverland he spent with the children, inside of Peter's hideout. The roots, which prevented any adult from coming into the hidden cave, eased aside and made room for Giliath, as only an Elf could persuade a tree to respond. It was the first time a grownup had ever been there, and it would likely never be repeated, but – as Peter had to admit – he liked having Giliath there, under the Nevertree. The Elf had told them about his own home and some of his adventures he had with his friends, only to reveal in their conversation that he would be returning to his own realm the next day. He soothed the three smaller boys, placing them on his lap, hugging them gently as tears rolled down their cheeks. The others pled with him to delay his departure, but the Elf knew that he was needed at home – something Wendy understood, even as tears welled up in her eyes and she stifled a sob.

And now the moment had come to say good-bye to the children, too, who now had a large place in his very large heart, as even the island did. He had explored Neverland at its worst and now at its best. He had come here to protect the land of eternal fantasy and therefore the boy who would not grow up. It had been his duty to right the wrongs done by the one known as S'Hadh. He had never imagined he could grow so fond of a pack of human children and their clever, witty, mischievous leader. Peter was as a little brother to him now. He felt responsible for them all. He was curious to see how Wendy would grow, because there was already a sense of the woman in her – that kind of rare woman who was hard to find and whose inner beauty matched her physical loveliness. She was so much like one of his own race, warm in heart and soul, friendly in spirit and full of caring, but a fierce fighter, the wit of a warrior and the temperament of a lioness. He very much wanted to see her as a grownup, but he knew that this wasn't possible. His realm was so very far away from her own – another world, another time – so he could only imagine what changes she would undergo.

Sighing, Giliath meandered through the ancient wood, one last time greeted the Green Masters who revealed themselves to him, responding to him in a way only an Elf could understand. He finally stopped before two large stones. "We are here," he murmured and looked at Peter, who stood beside him; crystal eyes searching the area in front of him, Tink on his shoulder.

"Here?" the boy asked, and the Elven warrior smiled.

"The portal is between the two stones, invisible to those who don't know what to look for." He sighed again and lowered his head. "I think that … now the time has come to say good-bye."

It was as if nature self stopped to hold its breath. Even the birds were quiet as the immortal friend turned to let his gaze wander over the young, slightly dirty and incredibly sad faces. "I will miss you all," he said in a low voice.

Curly sniffled, "Can't… can't you stay a little bit longer?"

Giliath shook his head, his silver-blond mane swayed gracefully. "I am sorry, little one, but they are waiting for me."

"How do you know?" Michael asked and was answered with a smile.

"We Elves can feel each other's thoughts as well."

"Will you return one day?" Nibs tried his best not to show any tears, but they were already brimming in his eyes.

He shook his head. "Some of us can see what the future holds, but not all of us have the sight." He took a deep breath, his green eyes dark with sorrow. "I will never forget you," he whispered, bent down and took each of them in turn in his arms. He could feel the sorrow of his departure in their souls. He kissed everyone on the forehead, removing a bit of the grief they felt, and wiped away their tears, soothing their souls.

Finally he bent down to Bumblyn, who hiccupped through his tears, and smiled softly at the bogey. "I must admit, my little friend, that I was wrong about you. At first I thought you would only bring trouble, but you turned out to be one of the most loyal souls I've ever met – a soul with a great big appetite." He winked at the Hobgoblin, who now wiped his puffy eyes while the others giggled. Giliath touched the wet cheek of the bogey and whispered: "Take care of yourself, and don't anger the inhabitants of the Black Castle too much. The ghosts are no longer there, but the castle has still a master, and it would be good for you and your family to keep the truce with him."

Bumblyn nodded, pulled out a oversized handkerchief and snorted into it with a sound any elephant would have been proud to make. "I'll fain ne'er forget you, fear not," the Hobgoblin chirped and his long ears and tail drooped. Giliath smiled again, pressed his lips to his fingertips and touched with them the small forehead, while he said something in his musical language. Promptly the tears stopped and the ears came back up again.

The Elf rose, turning toward Wendy, taking a deep breath when he saw her tears coursing down her porcelain cheeks. "Please, little lady, do not weep. Just think of the time we all spent together and remember what we shared. In my heart, I will be with you and the others." He bent down and placed a soft kiss on her cheek, alleviating the bitterness she felt. "There will come a time when you only remember us with joy. There are very few humans to have known the friendship of an Elf, but you will have mine for an eternity. And when life grows too difficult at times, just think of those days and find in yourself the light you posses, for I know that it glows stronger than in any one else." He stroked her hair and grinned at her. "And don't confuse the poor Captain any more than you already have. I think you just might simply finish him off."

Peter started to laugh, despite the dread he was feeling. "The old codfish would survive," he smirked.

Giliath cuffed the boy on his shoulder. "You two have come to a truce. He has even put aside his desire for revenge, and took compassion on you more than once. Please, do yourself and your friends a favour, and don't undo this by angering him again."

"But… Neverland would be too boring without him hunting me," the Prince of Neverland protested, but was hushed by Wendy.

"It isn't boredom not having to fear for your life every day!" she staid sternly, and Peter shrugged.

"We will see."

"Wasn't it nice to be cared for, for once?" the girl asked.

"_CARED for_? By _Hook_? When?" Peter looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

"Oh, the time you were hurt, the time when you were feverish, the time you were nearly frozen--"

"And when we were near the Mount of Not-No-Return in the caves, and you had the nightmare," Nibs nodded. "He was really nice to you then."

Peter threw his hands in the air. "We were allies! That's normal!"

"Is not!" came unanimous reply from nearly everyone else, and the eternal boy groaned. It was true, he remembered the many other times his friends didn't know of, like when Hook had sat at his bunk and looked after him, but –his pride refused to budge. And most certainly! he would never admit again how good it had felt those times the captain had taken care of him and even held him.

"So what now? Do you intend to provoke his anger against you again?" Wendy frowned. "And what about the day at sea he promised you?"

"Well… that is something I do want," the eternal boy mumbled, before his face lit up again. "But afterwards I can pull his leg again."

Giliath started to laugh – a rich, clear sound that washed over the children like a warm breeze. "I can see it: You two will be at each other's throats again within several days – until the next danger will forge you both together." Then he stepped to Peter, who grinned at him, before he, suddenly, turned serious, remembering the reason they were all here.

"So… this is the good-bye?" he murmured, shifting his weight. Tink, who had sat silently on his shoulder the whole time, sniffled.

Giliath nodded. "Yes," he whispered and took in the childish, handsome features of the boy, in the sandy-golden curls, the clear blue eyes – starting to glisten just now – the aura of youth, carelessness and innocence. And, without another thought, he pulled Peter into a warm embrace, already feeling the loss inside.

Peter almost stiffened out of habit, then he relaxed and allowed himself to be held for the last time, still a child, still needing to feel warm and protected.

"Be careful, little brother," Giliath murmured. "And keep an eye on those, who are weaker than you."

"I will," came the quiet reply.

"And please, don't play with danger so much. There is a difference between having fun and provoking evil."

Peter, who was desperately trying to hold back his unwelcome tears, swallowed. "I ... promise!" Awkwardly, hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around the shoulders of the Elf and buried his face in the soft fabric of his clothes. For the last time he smelled the essence of the forest, herbs and spring, felt the controlled power of the immortal warrior. He stifled a sob as Giliath stepped back, offered Tink one finger and shook it with warmth and respect.

He stood back, looking at them all. "Now, my friends, comes the real good-bye. But you must know where that term hails from. I remember hearing the greeting when English was a younger tongue, before the sounds were combined and shortened into the leave-taking you use today. The original phrase was 'God be with thee.' And so I give you the blessing, my children, that 'God be with thee,' now and ever after, I do bless thee and all that thou lovest, for indeed, I do love thee."

Shouldering his bow and quiver, Giliath finally turned, stretched one hand toward the space between the two stones and whispered something in that melodic language.

The children gasped, a golden light emerged with a whoosh between the rough rocks. It seemed to unfurl into the air until it cleared, and for one brief shining moment, gave them a clear window into a land they would never forget. There, in the centre of the light, something began to shimmer – as if seen through a waterfall, but finally they saw it -- the landscape of the foreign realm: deep forests covering high hills and in the distance, towering rock walls in every shade of grey stretched toward cobalt blue skies. Strange homes built of white wood in open, fine avenues, decorated with delicate carvings, stretched along a clearance and the graceful silhouettes of Elves could be seen. A warm wind seemed to come straight from the portal and a strange, sweet music was calling to all of them – gentle, calming, enticing.

"Is… is that your home?" Slightly asked in a voice barely above a whisper, and Giliath nodded.

"Yes, my home – Tirnion-i-Ago, The Straight Valley, as it is called in your language." His features glowed now, and his green eyes glistened with joy. It had only been two weeks, but his heart was beating faster as he neared his home.

One last time he looked at his little friends and memorized their faces, their expressions, then he strode toward the light – the light that would take him home. His cape billowed in the warm wind that passed through this portal, his silver hair waved like veil behind him, and the golden light danced around his body, sending brilliant sparks around his retreating silhouette like a halo around an angel. His outline became one with the mellow light and a brilliant flash forced the children to close their eyes. When they opened them again, Giliath seemed to be far away, his image already vanishing. He turned back and lifted one hand, waved at them with a happy smile, and behind him other Elves came running, their faces full of welcome. Then, finally, the golden light folded in on itself, the warm breeze died away, and it was once again two large boulders standing guard in the forest.

* * *

The children stood unmoving. Their bodies tingled with the blessing soaking into their skin that Giliath had bestowed on them. Their minds bubbled and fizzed like the hot springs near the volcano.

The final view of the Elves' home remained with them as no other memory would. They would remember new details every time their minds dwelt on that marvellous moment. Years later, they could ask each other, "do you remember ... ? did you see ...?" and the memory would be there, clear as if they were seeing it for the first time, detailed as if looking through a telescope at the wrong end, precious and eloquent.

"Did you see the green dragon with the red wings on the furthest peak on the left?"

"Yes! Did you see the golden eggs it was guarding?"

"Do you remember the colors of the butterfly that passed just as Giliath turned to wave to us?"

"Did you hear the song they were singing just before the portal closed?"

"Do you remember the color of the cloud nearest the sun? Did you ever see anything like it ever??"

"Did you see how that tree was shaped? The antenna on the beetle? The pattern on his shell? The coronet on the head of his friend? The way the tufts of grass grew? The layers of meaning in the song? The design on the windows in those homes?"

Did you see?

Do you remember?

They stood, hardly breathing, absorbing, holding, tying the memories fast.

* * *

The portal had closed.

The Elven realm was once again separated from the Neverland – and, perhaps, forever. The fairy-folk, the woods and the children would never forget their encounter with the most magical beings in all the worlds: the Elves.

They all sighed, standing starstruck at the closed portal, each caressing their last moments spent with Giliath in their minds, enclosing the memory in a light as tough as diamond.

When the silence was finally broken, it was Tootles who sighed, "THAT ... was a great adventure!"

TBC… in the epilogue


	45. Epilogue

Epilogue

The clean high bow sliced the waves, spreading the snow-white spray back into an endless glittering blue carpet under the cobalt sky. Seagulls screeched, soaring overhead as the wind filled the canvas sails and drove the galleon forward. The _Jolly Rog_er was under full sail, and her speed topped fifteen knots. Yes, Wendy had been mistaken at her first assessment of the four-master. With a fresh wind, the galleon could reach eighteen knots. Skilled sailors manning pirate-ships know that arms and crew are not enough for success, but also speed. The lives of the crew depended on it when pursued by the Navy. Or rivals. Their captain had always insisted that the hull be kept clean, the joints tarred, the masts and rigging in pristine condition, ready for departure at any moment, no matter how long they were stuck in Neverland.

Four pairs of blue eyes faced into the wind out to the open sea -- one blue as forget-me-nots, one dove-blue, the third dark-blue and oversized in the tiny face, and the fourth the most brilliant crystal sapphire.

"Amazing, is it not?" The pride in the pirate-captain's voice was unmistakable.

"It's … it's more exciting than I could have imagined!" Wendy's eyes shone with joy, as she raised her eyes to the hundreds of square yards of canvas straining above them, snapping in the wind, rigging singing its song. Tinker Bell, on the balustrade of the bridge near the wheel, chimed and nodded, and her wings twitched.

"Yeah, it's alright!" Peter kept his voice calm, but his sparkling eyes gave him away. He never knew that sailing a ship could be like this. It was almost – Almost! – as exhilarating as flying.

Three days had passed since Giliath's unforgettable departure, and after their grief had lessened, the children returned to their usual routine. They played outdoors the whole day and there was not one place in Neverland that was safe from their explorations. Peter and Wendy took Bumblyn back to the Black Castle, where his friends and family gave him a big welcoming party (Cookson would pop his cork when he saw the condition of the kitchen now!) Wendy had to bid her loyal little friend good-bye. She knew that she would see him again, and so it wasn't a final farewell, but she was used to having the Hobgoblin around and would miss him.

Peter saw her muted distress, and distracted her by showing off secret places in Neverland she had not yet seen, like the grove of singing trees, and the grotto filled with ruby red flamingos (where John spent a glorious hour), and soon they were sharing their fun together with the Lost Boys and Tinker Bell. Then Peter remembered the promise Hook made him: a day at sea. And, of course, Wendy had to accompany them. She had always dreamed of traveling on a powerful sailing-ship – a pirate-ship, the vessel of her very own villain, who had been in her stories even before Peter had. One beseeching look at the boy had been enough to get him to allow her to come with him. And she barely needed to ask before Hook gave in. She simply told him how much she'd always wanted a day at sea, how much she adored ships – his especially – and one or two bats of her eyelashes, and then he was grumbling, "Alright, but stay out of the way while we're working!"

Now Neverland was a shadow on the horizon, and around them were the score or so accompanying dolphins, racing the ship, leaping, dodging, playing about the ship, calling in their strange alien language. The ship swayed gently beneath their feet and the children quickly grew their "sea legs", so by midday they were able to maneuver on deck as if on the island.

Hook gave orders to the men in the riggings to show Peter how to set the sails, even explaining some of the science behind the motion of the ship. And, to his wonder, the boy was curious about all of it and asked many penetrating questions. Seeing him now, hands on the hips, that exasperating grin on his face – which, under other circumstances, would have infuriated the buccaneer – comprehension was dawning that there was more to the boy than he thought. Behind the mischievous cleverness was a brilliant intelligence, buried by Peter's stubborn refusal to grow up. Perhaps, some day, he could teach the little churl more about the sea.

"Ship's report, Sir," Smee wheezed, as he climbed up to the bridge and shoved his spectacles up his red nose, handing a paper to his captain.

Hook threw a short glance on it and nodded. "Very good, Mr. Smee, put it in my cabin and return to your duties." The little man saluted and winked at the children as he left to fulfill the captain's order.

"You've got an easy job, Hooky. Just give orders and enjoy the day," Peter smirked, earning a stern glare from the pirate.

"And how do you know which order to give, if you haven't learned how to run a ship?" he asked.

Peter shrugged: "Teach me, then I'll know."

"You can't learn how to sail in a day, Pan. You would need years for it."

"Years? You might need that long, Hooky, but not me!" There it was again: that arrogance that could drive the man insane.

"I agree, boy. You would need _decades_!"

Peter's eyes widened. "You're wrong."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are, old man!"

"Brat!"

"Codfish!"

"Idiot boy!"

"Bully!"

"Don't push me, churl!"

Smee, who had just came out of the main cabin, stared at the two, whose eyes were now shooting daggers at each other, and moved over to Wendy. "Wot's 'appening 'ere?" he asked in a low voice, and the girl sighed heavily.

"The usual: Peter and Captain Hook are back to their old bickering."

Tinker Bell giggled, flew over to the girl and sat on her shoulder, chiming softly. Wendy didn't understand, but it was clear what the star-fairy was saying: _they will never change!_

And as the _Jolly Roger_ sailed toward the distant horizon, the two opponents stood practically nose to nose on the bridge, throwing insults at each other, which would mean only one thing: that more wonderful adventures lay ahead for Peter Pan and Captain James Hook.

FIN

I hope, dear readers, that you liked the way the story ended and that all threads have been put together at the end. Peter and Hook are almost back to their old ways, and – this I can tell – it wouldn't last very long until the eternal fight between them will aflame anew.

_The Darling-children and the Lost Boys will have quiet a adventurous time until they have to return to London, and more than four years will pass until Wendy will come back one, final time to Neverland, at the brink of womanhood, and – as she doesn't know at first – brings a new villain to the shores of the magical island. Many changes and dangers lie ahead, and in the middle of it is the boy who won't grow up, a man who has to face is hidden feelings and has to tame his own demons, and a young girl, almost a lady now, who has to make the choice of a lifetime: to follow the way her parents wish for her or to follow her heart that she couldn't understand anymore._

_But that is another story, and will be told another time._

_I hope, you enjoyed the story and I would love to learn about your reactions and thoughts. So, please, please review._

_Yours,_

_Lywhn_


End file.
